Walls Of Silence
by Slug's bay
Summary: Tony and Michelle face an unexpected detour during their first vacation. Complete
1. Meeting At Division

_**Disclaimer**: I don't own 24 or any of its characters._

_**A/N** This story takes place roughly 18 months after the events of Season 2, a year after Tony and Michelle got married. It passed rapidly as both concentrated on work and enjoyed free hours together, dining at a host of restaurants and enjoying dozens of movies. Their first anniversary is upon them…_

An icy wind fresh from the Pacific howled its way through LA, screaming its fury at being constrained. Trees bent before it, their weaker branches snapped off like driftwood, a host of multicolored leaves left in its wake. Dogs returned to their kennels, cats opted to remain indoors, and the early morning joggers snatched an extra hour of sleep in lieu of venturing out. Even the permanent smog, so much a feature of the city, bowed its way out as though sensing a more powerful opponent, leaving the early risers gaping at the sheer beauty of the coming day. Icy and powerful, it worked its way into every nook and cranny, entering a third floor apartment and venting its spent rage on the figure of a dark hair man sleeping with the blanket pushed below his waist. Tony stirred, blinking in surprise to find himself shivering in the middle of summer. Rubbing his eyes, he padded over to the window, pulling it shut as quietly as possible, unwilling to disturb his sleeping companion.

Michelle stirred, her arm moving automatically across the bed to feel Tony. He watched her amused as her hand patted the sheets and her eyes opened. 'I'm here, sweetheart,' he said, climbing back beside her. 'Just went to shut the window. It's kinda windy.'

Michelle opened her eyes and sat up, listening to the howling wind. 'You don't exaggerate, do you?' She grinned at him, shivering from the sound. It was a weakness she failed to beat – she invariably started feeling cold the moment she even heard the approach of a storm. 'Cuddle up and get some sleep, or we'll be late tomorrow! We were real late yesterday!'

Tony pulled her into his arms, unable to resist tucking a few curls behind her ear. Her complete lack of ability to guess the time after being woken unexpectedly never failed to delight him. 'Sweetheart, you don't know the meaning of the word "late." Arriving at 8:40 rather than 8:30 doesn't begin to describe what poor mom went through every single day when we were young.'

'She had a dozen of you to get ready, she had an excuse to be as late as she chose,' Michelle told him, pressing her face into his shoulder. 'Can you imagine getting that many kids and ourselves ready every morning?'

'Honestly, I can, but I try not to,' he laughed. 'And you're real understanding, honey, but a lot of my teachers weren't. They actually told her off, after a coupla months!'

'You're not serious?' she asked, horrified.

'Aha. When I was eight I had this middle-aged teacher with a permanent scowl' he pulled a face to demonstrate, 'and one morning she met us outside class and asked mom "Mrs. Almeida, do you realize what time school starts?" And mom looked at her and said, "I sure do. Do you realize what time Sesame Street ends?"'

They giggled together, Michelle puzzled. 'What's that got to do with it?'

'Oh honey, you'll find out when we've got our first five kids,' he told her mischievously. 'You don't imagine they're going anywhere, before Elmo waves bye bye.' He shook his head, his face serious; his sparkling eyes the only indication of his amusement. 'I mean, you really wanna listen to three young kids howling all the way to school, and a crying baby? Mom couldn't, so we always got to watch the end.'

Michelle giggled again, fully awake. 'What time did it finish?'

'8:40. And school started at 8:45, and it was a good fifteen minute walk, so you work it out,' Tony replied. He rolled onto his side and glanced at the clock. 'It's 5:15, honey, we should get some sleep.'

'I'm not tired,' Michelle told him, stroking his hair. 'How come you didn't walk to school alone, Tony? Or with Jane?'

'I did sometimes,' he said, running a finger along her nose. 'But it rained a lot in the autumn and there were these fantastic puddles on the way. Real deep and wide, couldn't even see the bottom of a coupla them. Totally irresistible.'

'You didn't step into them?' she cried in delight. 'Tony Almeida, you wouldn't!'

'Not anymore, honey,' he assured her, winding a curl onto his middle finger. 'And no, I didn't _step_ into them.' He paused a moment for emphasis. 'I _jumped_!'

Michelle laughed aloud, rolling on top of him. 'You were horrible! I hope your mom smacked you.'

'Oh she did, but not hard enough,' he admitted, flipping her over and tickling her. 'You tellin' me you never jumped into any, Michelle? Coz I'm not sure I'd believe that!'

Michelle turned red under his intense scrutiny. 'Maybe a few,' she admitted.

'Just a few?' he pressed, ticking her stomach. 'I need the truth! You'll be tickled till you admit it!'

Michelle squirmed, laughing, struggling with him, tangling them both in the sheets. 'Ok, maybe more than that.'

'Maybe?' Tony asked, in a mocking tone. 'I think you're holding out. Got to take this to the next level,' he murmured, pinning her down.

'No no, stop,' she begged, laughing harder. 'Alright, I admit it. I jumped into plenty of them, but not by the time I went to school!'

'Aha. I knew we'd get to the truth eventually.' He kissed her lips, grinning at her. 'You wanna get some sleep now, Michelle?'

She shook her head. 'After this? You really woke me up, Tony. So tell me, what made you stop?'

Tony pulled her closer to him, watching her sparkling eyes. He was undoubtedly the luckiest man in the whole world, having her beside him. 'Stop what?' he asked, unable to resist running his fingers through her hair.

'Jumping into them. You know, you stopped sometime. I mean, you hate the rain now.'

'Aha. Oh, everyone grows up.' He closed his eyes, feeling her moving in the bed beside him. 'Let's get some sleep honey, it's real early,' he begged. 'Otherwise I'll go to sleep at my meeting and I'll be fired for sure!'

'Oh yes, you got Chappelle first thing,' Michelle noted in amusement. 'Don't pretend you don't enjoy seeing him, Tony! You know you love going over to Division. Hey, you might get lucky. Hammond could attend too.'

Tony groaned aloud and pulled the blanket over his head.

Michelle laughed, diving after him beneath the sheets. 'Where did you go?'

'I've escaped,' he muttered, hanging onto the sheets she attempted to rip from him.

'They'd find you,' she told him amused.

'You're right. I got a better idea. I'm sick, real sick. Tell them I got something infectious, like the plague!'

Michelle giggled, amazed yet again how relaxed Tony was at home with just the two of them. 'Why don't I make you some real strong coffee to wake you up,' she said, climbing out of bed.

'Yeah,' Tony said, sitting up, knowing that he was too alert to attempt a successful return to sleep. 'I'll start drinking it now, and hopefully it'll wake me up before I arrive. Did I ever tell you about the worst meeting I attended at Division?' He pulled his undershirt off, turning to glance at her. She shook her head. 'Well, I made myself a real strong coffee and figured it would wake me up for sure, but I made it too late. It hadn't started working by the time the meeting started and my eyes kept closing.' He grinned at her. 'I should have two coffees, sweetheart.'

'You're having one,' she told him firmly, as he had known she would. 'Just one, Tony, or you'll get hyped up and fidget all through the meeting, like last time.'

'Now honey, it wasn't last time,' he protested, his face serious again. 'I went there a coupla times since. And I had at least six coffees, not two. And it wasn't the coffee that made me a little restless, it was just that I remembered I forgot to lock the car and the video camera was on the front seat! Hammond kept reading this never ending list of figures, remember, and I couldn't stop wondering who'd steal the camera…'

'And I kicked you under the table, and you didn't understand what I was trying to tell you,' Michelle continued. 'And anyway, it was entirely your fault the door was left unlocked, Tony. If you'd left CTU a little earlier you wouldn't have been so late that you were forced to just run inside…'

'Ah, but there was an interview with the Cubs captain,' he reminded her, turning red under her intense scrutiny. 'Sweetheart, I was waiting for it all week and the program was delayed a little. It's not as though I missed anything.'

Michelle got up firmly. 'I'm making you a coffee, Tony, ONE cup. Go have your shower.' She watched while he undressed, amused by his grumpy expression. 'Go on,' she insisted. 'I'll set your water.' She moved into the bathroom and turned the taps on, pausing in thought. After a second of silent deliberation she turned the hot water off and increased the cold.

Tony made his way to the bathroom, rubbing his eyes. Keeping her face straight with difficulty she pulled aside the shower curtain, watching breathless while he stepped inside.

'Hhh,' he gasped, jumping back, his eyes wide with shock. He turned to regard her, noticing her leaning against the door frame with an innocent expression. 'There's serious payback due, Michelle.' He watched amused as she backed into the bedroom, following her mercilessly. 'You wanna join me?'

'Now Tony, you got to relax,' she begged. 'Tony, stop. What's the matter, I heard Marines always shower in ice cold water at dawn. I saw it on the TV,' she faltered, turning to run.

Tony caught her easily, pinning her to the wall. 'They do in boot camp, honey. And it's a good idea, it sure wakes you up. Come join me!'

'No no Tony,' she squealed, as he pulled her towards the bathroom. 'No Tony, stop, I don't believe in cold water…'

'I do,' he told her, chewing his lip as he noted her alarm. 'It really works. Come on, Michelle, we'll shower together. We won't even need that coffee,' he teased, stepping into the icy torrent without releasing her arm.

'Tony, don't do it,' she pleaded, the first frigid drops wetting her arm.

Tony pulled a face, turning the hot water full on. 'Oh, I got a soft heart, Michelle! I'll grant you mercy this once.' Noting her relief he burst out laughing. 'Honey, come join me. You didn't REALLY think I'd pull you in?' he questioned, chuckling.

She shook her head. 'No, I didn't. It wouldn't have been worth it, trust me!'

'Aha,' he questioned, tossing her soaking pajamas onto the bathroom floor. 'So what would you have done to me, sweetheart?' He pushed her against the wall, tilting her head to look into her eyes. 'You won't escape till you confess!' He narrowed his eyes and pulled a stern expression onto his face as though he were interrogating an unhelpful suspect.

'I would've hidden the coffee,' she whispered, pulling an equally serious look onto her own face.

'No,' Tony exclaimed, shaking his head wide-eyed. 'That's real mean, honey. You shouldn't even _think_ of trying it!'

'And,' she continued, holding up a hand, 'I would've…'

'What?' he cried, intrigued. 'What could be worse than that?' He chewed his lip, fighting to keep his face serious. _Wonder what else she's got in mind._

'I would've told your mom!' she told him, grinning.

Tony drew a deep breath, unable to keep his laughter inside any longer. 'Sweetheart, that's real low! That's just unacceptable, I'd never have heard the end of it! Try anything like that, and I'll show you just how mean I can get. I _can_ be mean,' he repeated, feeling her shaking with laughter in his arms. 'You don't believe me, do you?'

'No,' she told him, between fits of laughing.

'Well, I can be! I wouldn't do any more cooking!' he finished, his eyes sparkling with fun. 'And, I'd announce my strike the day YOUR mom would be invited to dinner!'

Michelle's mouth fell open and she punched him on the shoulder as hard as she could. 'Tony, that's terrible!'

'Yeah,' he agreed satisfied, and drew her closer for a kiss. Her hair brushed his cheek, the scent of shampoo filling his nose, and he marveled at his fortune in having her yet again. She was his now, he no longer had to rush through breakfast to get to CTU early just to admire her from afar. He swallowed, hugging her tighter.

Michelle stroked his hair, kissing him deeply. 'Say it, sweetheart,' she said.

'Say what?' he teased, tracing a drop of water along her face. 'Ok, Michelle. I love you. I love you more than I could ever explain. There's no way I could bear to be away from you more than a coupla hours! You satisfied you exposed all my weaknesses?'

They left the shower when the water turned cold, shivering. Tony rubbed himself dry and put his towel on the rack, crawling back beneath the blankets. He shut his eyes, watching Michelle emerging from beneath his eyelashes, waiting expectantly for her reaction.

'Tony! You're back in bed,' she cried exasperated, grabbing his blankets. 'Get up.'

'Honey, we're too early. We got plenty of time,' he insisted, throwing her a look guaranteed to melt her heart. 'Why don't you come back and warm me up?'

Michelle shook her head, chewing her lip, wavering once he pulled her side of the blankets up, patting her pillow. She sighed before succumbing to his advances. 'You don't really expect us to fall asleep for another hour?' she asked, watching his face.

'_Sleep?_ Who said anything about that?' he inquired cheekily. 'That cold shower was a great idea, sweetheart, it really woke me up!' They exchanged meaningful grins before he rolled on top of her. 'I'm just a little cold!'

'Tony, it's ringing again,' Michelle protested an hour later, her eyes on the alarm clock. Tony reached over her and switched it off, replacing it on the bedside table. He kissed her again while she fought to sit up. 'No, Tony, you can't pretend it's a Saturday,' she said reluctantly. 'We got to get up, it's a Monday, remember? You're expected at Division.'

'Oh no,' Tony groaned, rolling out of bed. 'I didn't go there yet?'

Michelle was unable to prevent her laughter at his dismayed expression, shaking her head slightly. 'You didn't. Chappelle called a briefing about something, remember?'

He nodded. 'Aha. I was gonna have a dozen coffees.' Her shadow warned him of her punch an instant before she hit his arm and he shook his head. 'Fighting again, Michelle! Keep it up, and I'll have to find the battered husbands' shelter!'

They collapsed onto the bed shaking with laughter, until Michelle pushed him up. 'Go make breakfast, Tony. I got to do my hair,' she told him and he nodded, marveling at the length of time it took to brush out. Trying to guess what the upcoming briefing would consist of, he cracked two eggs over the frying pan and put bread into the toaster, cutting up tomatoes. Michelle emerged to find breakfast prepared and Tony at the sink, swallowing something from a nondescript brown mug. 'You're busted!' she cried. 'I caught you red handed, Tony! Don't pull that innocent expression; I know what you were up to. You were having a coffee!'

'Honey, I got a meeting,' he protested, sitting opposite her at the counter and grabbing the Cubs mug before she could remove it. 'I really got to wake up for that, or Chappelle will fire me. He's not all that keen on me anyway,' he said soberly, and she nodded, the playful mood gone. They ate rapidly and she carried the dishes to the sink to rinse them while Tony grabbed his briefcase. 'Looks like we're taking two cars,' he said regretfully, knowing he would miss her chatter on the long drive.

He kissed her and dashed over to the elevator aware he would be late. _They'll give you that disapproving look again, Almeida, when you open the door and attempt to sneak in._ He narrowed his eyes and turned his car on, reversing out of the car park. The drive proved long and dull without Michelle to amuse him. _It's too quiet! She's not here to make you laugh, Almeida, or tell you the latest gossip about your employees that you're always the last to hear. This meeting is gonna be real long without her beside you._ Without being aware of his actions he let out a long sigh, deciding to buy her a small present after work. The rest of the drive passed pleasantly as he sat in an endless stream of traffic, his mind considering the present. There was no special occasion, so he could buy something small she would appreciate. Should he get a large box of her favorite chocolates? He shook his head slightly, driving forward another few feet. _No, you buy that all the time, and anyway, you end up eating half of it. This should be for her alone. Flowers? No, you buy them all the time too and they won't last long_. Without realizing it he reached Division and parked the car, remembering to lock the door and raced to the entrance, showing his I.D. to the security guard in the booth. _A movie. Yeah, that's it. She'll love a soppy sentimental romance! _A smile tugged his lips as he pushed the conference room's door open and entered, moving automatically to the back.

'Glad you could join us, Almeida,' Chappelle remarked in his nasally voice. 'If you're representing CTU, be on time!'

He slid silently into his seat at the back of the room, glancing at the thick folder before him. _Dammit, it'll take all morning to get through this. Don't they realize I got work to do, real work?_

'Now that we're finally all present we can begin,' Chappelle droned in his nasally voice. 'We're discussing the infiltration of terrorists from friendly nations – terrorists who've migrated to these nations and appear fully westernized. The first such nation is our primary ally the United Kingdom. Open your folders to page two. We have a list of suspects they sent us who're currently visiting the States. As nothing concrete has been proven against them the United Kingdom lacked the ability to deny them passports. We on the other hand were unable to deny them entry. Currently our allies have several million Muslims within their borders, as do we. We're holding a conference next week in Melbourne to discuss this growing hole in national security.' Tony twirled his pen, wishing he could think of something concrete to solve what he saw as an emerging problem. 'We're sending someone from CTU to attend the conference,' Chappelle continued. Tony stared at him startled; having assumed Chappelle himself would attend. 'Almeida, you've never been to Australia, so I've sent them your name. Pack enough things for a week. We'll send you over an itinerary by this afternoon.'

'Sir, I can't just fly off to Australia,' Tony began, his heart divided as he spoke. He would indeed enjoy the opportunity of seeing an entirely different continent, but he was unable to contemplate leaving Michelle alone. 'I've got my first anniversary next week.'

The entire table cast him incredulous looks. 'Tony, you can celebrate that event on your return,' Chappelle told him refusing to consider his protest. 'It'll hardly make any difference, and the conference would do you good.'

'Sir, I agree with you about the conference,' Tony assured him, longing to go. 'But…'

'But you'll pack a suitcase and go,' Chappelle told him firmly. 'And use this time to prepare a presentation about our own local militants to last roughly an hour. I'll be faxing over the details shortly.' He dismissed Tony's objections with a disdainful look.

'Yeah,' Tony agreed, unable to think of a way out of it. _You'll have to break this to Michelle sometime tonight, Almeida. She won't like it; she's been planning this anniversary party all week!_ He struggled with an unusual lack of attention during the remainder of the meeting. _It's not gonna be a pleasant evening, tonight._


	2. Vacation Plans

'Hey sweetheart,' Michelle greeted him as he unlocked the apartment door. 'Your parents dropped in. Your mother's cooked something and she brought us enough for an entire meal!'

Tony forced his sigh away. Normally he was thrilled to have members of his family arrive unexpectedly, but tonight was not one of those times. He had struggled through an entire afternoon at CTU watching Michelle through his glass walls, attempting to think of a positive way of breaking his news to her. He removed his jacket slowly and hung it on a peg, greeting his parents. 'Hey mom, papa.'

They glanced at him carefully, aware of his poor spirits. 'Hey sweetheart. We can go if you're busy,' his mother assured him.

'No,' Michelle exclaimed, shaking her head. 'We're not doing anything exciting at all, and as you've brought us dinner, we've got plenty of time. You must stay.'

'She's right,' he agreed, settling in an armchair. 'Thanks for dinner, mom.'

'I hope you like it. It's a new recipe.'

'And I'm glad you're here anyway - we can discuss this party,' Michelle said cheerfully, handing them glasses of wine. 'We should have candles, Tony, don't you think?'

'Of course you should, dear, it's perfect,' his mother agreed. 'Tony likes candles, don't you, sweetheart?' She gave him a stern look and he raised guilty eyes to meet hers, reading a question in them. She would tell him off soon if he failed to join in the chatter.

'I don't know how to tell you this, sweetheart,' he began slowly, twisting his wedding band round his fingers. 'We're gonna have to hold this party a week later. I won't be here next week.'

'Oh yes you will!' his mother exclaimed, shocked. 'How can you think of missing such an event, Antonio?'

'Change your schedule, Tony,' his father advised. 'Your mother's right, you've got to be here for that.' He lowered his voice. 'Look at her,' he hissed.

The final order was unnecessary for he had already noticed Michelle's dismayed face. She remained silent, twirling the wine around in her glass without facing him. The sparkle had disappeared from her eyes replaced by a deep weariness due to several extremely busy weeks. She had used the upcoming party to force herself through the long hours at work and now appeared to loose her struggle with exhaustion. 'I'll go check whether dinner's warm enough,' she said in a dull tone.

'Antonio,' his father exclaimed once she left the room. 'What the hell do you imagine you're doing? I can't believe I raised such an insensitive son! Can't you see…'

'I know,' he interrupted just as loudly, glad Michelle's Spanish was too limited to allow her to follow their frequent arguments. 'I can't change it, it's a conference. There's hundreds of delegates, there's no way they're all gonna change their schedules. My boss picked me to go, he kinda insisted on it.'

'So where is it?' his mother questioned. 'Maybe you could fly back.'

He shook his head. 'Don't you think I would, if it were possible? It's in Melbourne.'

'Melbourne?' his father questioned with a raised eyebrow. 'As in Australia? That's real far, Tony!' They fell silent as Michelle returned; telling them it needed another minute.

'It's in Melbourne, honey,' Tony explained gently. 'It's a conference about terrorists arriving from allied nations. It's kinda relevant at the moment.'

'Sure it is,' she told him, her eyes on the carpet. She still hadn't met his eyes since his announcement and his anxiety mounted. She wasn't cross, she was upset, and that was far worse. 'I mean, why shouldn't CTU pay your trip to Australia, your hotel and meals, and your trip to the most important conference on terrorism this year? Why should I be upset? I've traveled so extensively all my life, especially this last year. What use could I be at such a conference?' she muttered, before she rose and hurried into the bedroom. 'Excuse me for a minute while I change for dinner.'

Tony chewed his lip in silence. 'I guess I'm not going to Melbourne' he told his parents regretfully.

'Why not?' his father asked to his amazement.

'Papa, I can't. You've seen her. She's absolutely right, it's not fair. I'll call Chappelle and tell him to send someone else.'

'Wait, Tony,' his father ordered. 'Don't be too quick to decide things. You've got a conference to attend, you should go. Michelle needs a holiday, she's clearly exhausted, take her with you! She'll have a great time.'

'What a wonderful idea, Marco,' his mother exclaimed. 'That would be great. You two could have a fantastic holiday. Your father's right, Tony, Michelle looks terribly tired. You shouldn't let her work so hard. Take her with you.'

Tony stared at them in silence, considering their suggestion. 'Thing is, I'll be kinda occupied at the conference,' he began slowly. 'It goes till real late and I'll be expected to socialize with the delegates afterwards. No one will have family members. Michelle would be real lonely all day, and its winter there now. The weather will be pretty dismal. It wouldn't be much of a holiday for her.'

'She shouldn't be alone,' his father agreed. 'Can't you think of anyone to go with her? They could go shopping together. She'd like that, no matter how awful the weather is.'

'Papa, I don't have that kinda money,' Tony protested. 'One week of shopping would break me if I buy her ticket to Australia as well. And no, I can't think of a single person who's free now.'

'Well then, your mother will go,' his father said suddenly. 'She and Michelle get along fine, and you haven't had a proper holiday yet, Rita,' he told her.

'Marco, what was in that wine?' Tony's mother exclaimed, shocked. 'Michelle would want someone a little younger. And what would we do anyway, in the winter. What's the weather like then, anyway?'

'Rainy and cold,' he said soberly. 'We're told to take warm things. It won't work, Papa.'

'Wait a minute,' his father said, holding up a finger as he always did when he was deep in thought and wished to remain uninterrupted. 'It's a large continent, right? Now the top of it is tropical, if I remember what I learned in geography back when I was at school in the dark ages!'

Tony burst out laughing. 'You're right, Papa, it is. But it's real far away from Melbourne.'

'Good,' said his father. 'It's settled, then. Michelle and your mother will go to the top, to some fantastic beach resort, and you'll attend the conference in Melbourne and then join them for the weekend.'

Tony nodded as he considered the suggestion. 'It would work,' he agreed. 'She does need a break and she loves tropical beaches. I'll go get her,' he said and his parents nodded, talking to each other so quietly he was unable to hear what they said as he walked down the passage and pushed open the bedroom door. Michelle was in the shower, standing directly beneath a steam of hot water with her eyes closed. 'Hey sweetheart, dinner's ready,' he told her, pushing aside the curtain. She remained silent, ignoring him. 'Honey…'

'It's ok, Tony, you don't need to patronize me. You're obviously important and I'm not. We'll cancel this anniversary, it hardly matters anyway!'

'Now honey,' Tony whispered, rolling his shirt sleeve up and touching her face gently. 'It's not gonna be that way. You're coming with me for a holiday. After dinner we'll check the whole place on the Internet and pick you a fantastic trip.'

Michelle's eyes widened. 'Oh Tony, would you? Could we? We can't afford it,' she concluded sadly. 'We're saving for a house, remember?'

He nodded, turning off the water. 'Sure I do! So we'll buy it a coupla months later. Come on, we're young now! We'll have the trip of a lifetime.' He pulled her towards him and she threw her arms round his neck. Tony kissed her passionately getting wet in the process. 'Come and eat first, sweetheart,' he begged. She nodded, her eyes shining and he leaned against the wall with folded arms, watching her.

'But it wouldn't be real fun alone,' she sighed, slipping a pale blue sleeveless top on.

'You wouldn't be alone,' he said, grinning at her. 'Mom will go with you.'

'You're not serious?' she questioned eagerly and he nodded. 'Tony, that would be perfect. I love your mom; she treats me like a favorite daughter. But it's hardly fair to your father.'

Tony watched her step into a pair of black shorts and nodded grimly. 'I know. Poor papa always seems to miss every holiday. He's real busy right now.' _He was always busy, canceling more than one trip at the last minute, always saving for all of us…_ 'He sure deserves a break too,' he said.

'So why don't we talk him into it?' she asked cheerfully. 'He hasn't exactly broken the record on holidays.'

'Aha,' Tony agreed, opening the door. 'You try, he'll listen to you. He really likes you,' he told her, taking her hand.

They spent dinner discussing the upcoming trip, Michelle and his mother insisting his father join the group. Tony's father listened to the idea shocked into silence and shook his head firmly telling Michelle he was totally swamped with work and couldn't possibly take a week off.

'It's not as though you can't afford it now,' Michelle argued, meeting his eyes. 'Marco, you've spent your whole life providing for your family. They're all fine now. You should allow yourself to relax a little.'

Tony studied his father's face, seeing a thoughtful expression enter his eyes. He cast an admiring glance at Michelle, aware she was the only one present who had a chance of talking his father into a well deserved holiday. _Keep going Michelle, you're doing great!_ He squeezed her hand under the table.

'What can I say?' his father sighed as they finished their coffee and cookies. 'You're all against me! Why shouldn't I have a quiet week at home by myself?'

'Because you'll spend it working,' Michelle told him, getting up. She threw him a mock stern expression and he nodded, chewing his lip, reminding her of Tony. 'Marco, you're every bit as stubborn as Tony, and the only way to get him to relent once he's decided on something is to say one word, "please."' She walked over to him and laid a hand on his shoulder. 'Come with us.'

Mr. Almeida glanced round the table, his eyes resting on Tony. 'Looks like I lost this one,' he said, smiling at his son. 'Alright, I'll come, but I've got to bring my work along with me! There's a plan that's absolutely got to be ready by next week.'

'You can draw it up on the plane,' Tony suggested mischievously. 'It's quite a long flight.' Their eyes met and he read a mild amusement from his father. 'You really do need a break too, Papa,' he argued. 'I don't really remember you ever having one except when we went to visit Abuelo, but you always had to help round the farm then.'

'Yeah, I remember.' His father finished his wine and laid the glass on the table. 'I might not be terribly good company though. I'm not real sure what to do on a vacation.'

'Oh, we'll organize everything!' Michelle assured him, sharing a smile between them. Tony finished the last of the dinner, a recipe his mother could have done quite well without, he decided, and watched them chatting, thrilled she fitted in so well with his family. He had agonized over her meeting his parents pointlessly early on in their relationship. Really it would have been impossible if they had failed to get on, tearing him apart between them.

After dinner he collected the dishes and carried them to the kitchen, washing them all. Over the top of the counter he noticed them gazing at Michelle's computer, chatting animatedly_. Looks like they're finding plenty of places to visit while I'm at my conference!_ He scrubbed the pot enviously.

'Tony, you got to come here,' Michelle called, her voice a little higher with excitement. 'We'll go to the Gold Coast! You've GOT to see some of the pictures of the beaches!'

He shook his head, resuming his task with the slightly burned pot. 'I shouldn't.'

'Don't be silly, Tony, of course you should,' she cried. 'It's just near Brisbane, the Gold Coast on one side and the Sunset Coast on the other. We'll visit them both! And there's a national park with koalas in there, and some large aquarium where we'll see the local fish, and…'

'We should spend the week in Brisbane, and then fly up to Cairns for the weekend, it's all coral reef there,' his mother interrupted, just as excited. 'Look at these pictures. That sand is so…'

'I'll call Chappelle in a minute and tell him I'm going surfing instead. It's the same continent, after all,' he told her with a wry expression. 'Trust me, it's better if I don't get to see those pictures!'

'You'd NEVER be tempted to join us there instead!' Michelle exclaimed, resting her head against his shoulder.

'You sure about that, sweetheart?' he questioned, taking a break. 'It's a beach. You think Tony Almeida never sneaked off to the beach?'

She gave a delighted chuckle. 'You didn't! Tell me about it, Tony.'

'I will a bit later, when…'

'When we've gone home,' his father finished, joining them in the kitchen. 'Why keep her waiting so long, Tony? Come out and tell us all, we'd LOVE to hear about it!'

Tony chewed his lip, throwing his father a guilty look. 'Ah, that's the kinda story that can keep! Why don't you guys show me the Gold Coast instead?'

'It won't save you,' his father assured him, following him back to the computer. Tony's mother gave him her seat and he clicked through a whole series of pictures, shaking his head.

'It's hardly fair! I get to freeze and you'll go swimming. Where's the fairness in that? Reminds me of the time I was stationed in Alaska and Maria called me and told me about having dinner on the beach!'

'Oh Tony, grow up!' his father told him, laying an arm round his shoulders. 'Your ticket is paid for, after all! We've all got to pay for ours!' He chewed his lip, failing to hide his amusement. 'Now I'd love to hear about you sneaking off to the beach.'

Tony rolled his eyes and shook his head, helping himself to the last cookie. 'Is there a statute of limitations here, papa? Otherwise I refuse to testify!'

'Depends how long ago it was,' his father replied, settling back into the armchair he normally occupied whenever he visited his son.

'Isn't it something like seven years?' his mother asked cheerfully, sitting in the opposite armchair. 'I think you're safe enough, Tony!'

'Is it a deal, papa? I won't get busted for anything that happened more than seven years ago?' he inquired cheekily.

Mr. Almeida pretended to consider the matter. 'That all depends on what we'll hear,' he said.

'Sorry, I can't take that chance,' Tony told them seriously. 'My lips are sealed!'

He caught the cushion Michelle threw at him easily with his left hand, placing it behind his back. 'Tony, come on, tell us. We're all waiting,' she cried impatiently. 'I don't believe you ever even did such a thing at all, that's why you refuse to speak!'

'Oh honey, you don't imagine you'll catch me out with that old trick?' he snorted. 'I'm supposed to say sure I did, and then be forced to tell. Ow,' he cried as she punched his arm. 'Michelle…'

'Come on Tony, it's getting late,' his mother urged. 'Your father promises he won't get excited about anything you done as a teenager. Don't you, Marco?'

'I do,' he agreed seriously. 'Come on Tony, tell us. Which beach did you visit without my knowledge and whose signature did you forge for your note to school the next day? Mine?'

Tony pulled a puzzled frown onto his face, casting his father an alarmed look_. She doesn't know about that yet, Papa!_ 'You guys all jump to conclusions,' he said, shaking his head in mock sorrow. 'As it happens, I had the day off with mom's permission! There was a chemistry test I hadn't prepared for and she let me stay home…'

'I'm sure I wouldn't have,' his mother interrupted startled.

'Well, perhaps I failed to mention the test,' Tony admitted, chewing his lip. 'I said something about feeling real sick, bad stomach ache, and mom told me to stay in bed and keep warm and call her at work if I felt worse. And I would've stayed home and practiced a little basketball in the garden, but Miguel and Arturo called and…'

'Not those gangsters?' his father cried.

'Now papa, it's important to establish a timeline here. They hadn't joined any gang yet,' Tony protested. 'They said they'd love to go to the beach, would I join them, so I said sure. It was a perfect winter day. They said they needed a ride as they had no car so I made some sandwiches and found mom's keys and I'm sorry mom, I took your car.' He threw her a sheepish look.

'Tony! When was this? Did you have your license?' his mother asked, struggling to think when these events could have occurred.

He shook his head guiltily. 'Not quite, but I was ready to pass the test, honest! And nothing happened to the car! I was real careful.'

'So you had a great day at the beach. And then you went home?' Michelle asked him, shaking her head. 'Really, Tony! How could you?'

'Honey, I was a teenager,' he protested. 'Yeah, we had a fantastic day. The waves were massive, curling right over. I nearly drowned! I don't think I ever drank so much seawater in my life as I did that day.'

* * *

Tony pushed his partner's glass door open and stepped in uninvited, catching Jack gazing aimlessly into space. 'Hi Jack,' he began, perching on an uncluttered corner of his desk. 'Got a minute?'

Jack sighed, nodding his head at a small pile of folders on his desk. 'Ryan wants these completed by the end of the day. Sure!'

'Yeah, he's been after me too,' Tony admitted, rubbing his face.

'So how's your speech coming?'

Tony sighed heavily. 'I got about ten minutes worth – just about half. I'm not sure what kinda detail they'll expect. Should I provide something more, or just pad this out a little? Dammit, Jack, I've never done anything like this before. I'm no public speaker!' _Only times you've ever spoken in public, Almeida, were to your men back in the Marines. You didn't need to agonize over a speech when it came to commending them, dressing them down, or organizing them for a mission._ _This is different, it'll be hell._ A light sweat broke out on his forehead.

A slight grin worked its way onto his partner's face. Tony scowled back at him, noting the grin widen. 'You're nervous, Tony!' The grin grew into a smile.

Tony folded his arms and glared at him. 'Yeah.'

'Look, why don't you show me what you got so far,' Jack suggested, taking pity on him. 'I could give you a few tips. Delivering a speech is not so bad, just focus on the back wall and avoid eye contact until you feel confident.'

_You'll stare at the back wall during the entire speech, Almeida! It's as good a piece of advice as any you've heard so far!_ 'Thanks, Jack,' he said, getting up. 'Ah, there was one more thing…'

'Spit it out,' Jack ordered, a mild frown appearing on his face as he studied Tony in silence. 'You're not resigning or anything, are you? It wouldn't save you, Tony. If Ryan says you're delivering this speech, then you're doing it.'

'Yeah. No.'

Jack stared at him confused. 'What's wrong, Tony?'

Tony rubbed his face, chewed his upper lip and examined the entire office, avoiding eye contact. 'Ah, I'd like to take Michelle with me,' he began. 'She hasn't had a holiday since our honeymoon nearly a year ago, and you know that was interrupted! She's put in more hours at work than anyone except you or me and she's real tired. Thing is, you'd be left to run my department as well…'

Jack let out a long breath, pointing a finger at him wordless.

'Please Jack. It's only for nine days,' Tony begged. 'You ran CTU alone, you can handle it.'

Jack nodded. 'Sure I can handle it, Tony. I can handle the terrorists. What I can't handle is all the reports waiting for me! You expect me to do yours as well?'

'Nah. Just sign the more urgent ones and leave the rest, I'll do them when I return. You could also give the more mundane ones to Adam or Gael…Look Jack; you can handle Chappelle better than anyone I know. I…'

'Quit bootlicking, Tony, it's not your style,' Jack muttered. 'Okay, for old time's sake. For nine days, you hear. NOT A DAY LONGER!'

Tony grinned at him, nodding his head. 'Thanks Jack. We'll be back in nine days; you got my word on it.'


	3. The Conference

Tony opened his laptop and studied the pile of notes beside him wishing he wasn't so exhausted. The flight had been uneventful and they had reached Sydney in the late afternoon local time. After crossing customs they had changed to the domestic terminal and Tony bade farewell to his parents and Michelle. 'Have a great time,' he told them enviously as the final call to Brisbane was announced.

'We will,' Michelle assured him, rushing back to give him a final hug. 'Have you got all your notes, Tony?'

He nodded, hugging her tight against him. 'Yeah. I'm gonna miss you, Michelle.' Her hair brushed his nose and he gently pushed a curl aside, unwilling to release her. 'I really love you, sweetheart. Take care, won't you. There are poisonous jellyfish round there.'

Michelle chuckled in his arms. 'Sweetheart, since when were you scared of jellyfish? We'll be fine. I got to go, that woman is looking a little annoyed.'

'Plane won't go yet,' he assured her, tilting her face upwards for yet another final kiss. The Qantas official glared at them meaningfully.

'Paging Passenger Dessler for QF flight 6 to Brisbane. Passenger Dessler please make your way over to gate 12. Your flight is leaving!'

'That's me,' Michelle told him, extracting herself from his arms. 'I really gotta go now, Tony. I'll call you once you land, ok?'

'Yeah,' he agreed, walking with her as far as the connecting corridor. Unable to let her leave he pulled her back into his arms yet again, placing his mouth on her lips. She returned his kiss, her fingers stroking his hair.

'Excuse me. Passenger Dessler, I take it! The flight will leave in two minutes, with or without you. I'm sure he'll call you,' the official snapped. She glared at Tony. 'We encourage all passengers to board their flights by the final call.'

'Sorry,' he apologized automatically, never less sorry in his life. He watched her rush down the connecting corridor until she turned a corner. Moments later the corridor was removed and the plane's door was pulled shut. Tony walked over to a window, laid his hand luggage on the floor by his feet and watched as the plane reversed from its parking bay and began the slow roll to the runway. 'Bye, Chelle' he said softly, a pang of loneliness rushing through him.

His own flight left an hour later, depositing him into a steady gale and pouring rain. Tony opened his suitcase and retrieved his jacket before leaving the terminal, barely avoiding a collision with a group of barefoot people wearing t-shirts and jeans, carrying wrapped surfboards. He watched them hurry over to the check-in counter, telling himself sternly to get over his envy. It was hardly their fault he had had no vacation the entire year_. Pull yourself together, Almeida! You'll get a weekend in Cairns with Michelle, and you're off to a real important conference. No one else round here even knows it's on._ Watching the surfers argue about exactly where their boards should be placed on the plane, he doubted whether they would be remotely interested.

His hotel was located close to the heart of the city. Tony checked in and entered a spacious room with a pale carpet and cream eiderdowns on a large double bed. _Michelle would've loved this room. _The window looked onto the city center, the view slightly tarnished by the driving rain. He allowed a sigh to escape before he unlocked his suitcase and hung his shirts and suits into the cupboard. _Sure wish the rain would stop. It would be fun to see some of the beaches._

As if in answer to his thoughts the rain stopped and a pale sunlight flooded the street. Tony remained at his window for another moment before he pulled on his jacket and hurried outside. He needed a little fresh air after the long flight and he would find it impossible to sleep right then anyway.

The taxi driver gave him an odd stare as he settled. 'You sure you want to go the beach now, mate? It'll be bloody dark there, and it's raining!'

'Yeah,' Tony replied firmly. 'Just for a little while.'

The driver nodded, glancing back through the mirror. 'Which beach?'

Tony shrugged. 'The closest one, I guess.' He watched pedestrians and traffic as they left the center, arriving just before sunset. Rough waves pounded the shore, froth churning up the beach. A few gulls surrounded him screeching dismally as he shook his head. Tony remained motionless, watching the gathering darkness before he moved closer to the water and put his hand inside, wincing slightly. _It sure is cold!_

An hour later he called another cab and returned to the hotel where he stripped and warmed himself under a steaming shower. Room service brought a large portion of steak with baked potatoes and a salad and he found a few unknown beers in his fridge. He opened a green can of Victoria Bitter first and sipped it, nodding thoughtfully. _That's quite ok. At least you'll have a little fun trying all those other cans too, Almeida._ A lot more tired than before, he flicked through a dozen channels, settling for a thriller over which he fell asleep.

His internal clock totally disrupted, he awoke an hour later. The thriller was still on, the protagonist being chased by several police. Tony yawned and rubbed his eyes, glancing at his watch. It was midnight. _Get some sleep, Almeida! You're supposed to be alert for the conference, remember!_ Sleep completely eluded him as he tossed and turned in the large unfamiliar bed, unable to settle without Michelle. He longed to hear her voice again and lifted his cell before replacing it on the bedside table_. Settle down, Almeida! How can you even think of waking her? Go to sleep! Sure wish she'd call…_

His fingers closed over his cell at the first ring and he pulled it towards his mouth. 'Almeida.' _Please let it be her!_

'Honey, why are you still up?' Michelle questioned. 'You'll be real tired tomorrow. How was your flight?'

'It was fine, a little bumpy at the landing. The weather's pretty bad round here,' he replied. 'What's it like over there?'

'Tony, it's great. It's almost as warm as home right now and there's a gorgeous river real close to the hotel. We ate outdoors on this terrace and then we went for a short walk. All the people round here are real relaxed. Your mom said we should all get some sleep, and I was real tired before but I'm beginning to wake up now!' She sighed heavily.

'Me too,' he admitted. 'I was gonna call you, honey. Tell me all about your trip,' he begged, lying back down with closed eyes as he listened to her voice. 'Don't stop, sweetheart,' he encouraged when she fell silent. 'I need to hear you right now and pretend you're right here. This bed is much too big for one.'

'Same here,' she agreed. 'This vacation will be great but I know which part I'll enjoy best.'

'Aha?' he teased. 'The visit to the aquarium?'

'Right,' she joked. 'How did you guess?'

'I know you real well,' he told her. 'So have you decided what to do about our anniversary dinner? We'll be on the plane back that day. Are we celebrating it here or back home?'

'I've been thinking about that,' Michelle told him seriously. 'I guess it would be wrong to celebrate it twice? You know, we're a day ahead over here…'

'Twice,' Tony chuckled. 'Sweetheart, what gave you such an idea?'

'I'm married to the very best man in the whole world,' she said softly, and he swallowed a lump in his throat. 'That deserves two celebrations.'

'You got it,' he agreed, deeply moved. 'But I'm the lucky one here honey, not you. You could've had anyone.'

'You're the only one I want, Tony,' she answered with spirit and he smiled in the darkness, missing her more than ever_. Much more of this conversation, Almeida, and you'll call a cab and hurry back to the airport and take the first plane over to her! Of course Chappelle might be a little pissed off!_

He said goodbye and promised to get some sleep, tossing and turning in the large bed for the next half hour before he gave up the struggle and reached for his cell phone. He would allow it to ring twice and if she didn't answer he would hang up and allow her to sleep. To his delight she answered at the first ring, as alert as he was. 'Hey sweetheart, you still awake?' he began unnecessarily.

'Sure. It's supposed to be daytime right now. But Tony, I can afford to stay up all night, I'm only spending tomorrow on the beach. You got to deliver your paper. You should get some rest.'

'Honey, I got to deliver that paper on Tuesday,' he told her. 'The Australians are hosting the conference, they get to speak first.' He shut his eyes and held the phone closer to his ear. 'Why don't you tell me what you're wearing,' he suggested with a grin.

A loud beep from her phone startled them both as they whispered endearments to each other. 'That your phone, sweetheart?' Tony asked.

'Yeah, it is. We kinda spoke a long while,' Michelle told him with a chuckle. 'My phone says 2 hours and 17 minutes! I guess we should get some sleep now.'

'Aha,' he agreed. 'We spoke for 2 hours,' he repeated, amazed. 'Michelle, do you realize it's a long distance call! Chappelle might have a bit to say to me!'

She laughed aloud. 'You can count on it, Tony. He'll have it taken out of your pay!'

'He'll have me arrested,' Tony muttered, only half joking. 'Guess I better say goodnight, sweetheart. I'll call you in the morning!'

He called her in the morning, after he managed to force a little breakfast down, but she failed to pick up. He presumed she was sleeping, attempting to rub the exhaustion from his own eyes. It took three cups of black coffee to wake him enough to return to his room and collect his briefcase. _Thank God you just got to listen today, Almeida!_ Luckily every speaker prepared extensive notes to enable the vast audience to follow their presentation more clearly. Tony put them away carefully, resolved to study them that evening and make his own notes.

At lunch the entire gathering walked down a flight of stairs and ate in a five star restaurant that was given over to them for the week. He found himself a place at a table with another American from Texas, two Englishmen and a Canadian. They introduced themselves and listened to the Canadian delegate discuss his theme: the problem of illegal immigration. All in all the conference proved more interesting than he had imagined. They ate dinner together and returned to their respective hotels, Tony barely able to focus on pushing the right button on the elevator. He unbuttoned the top few buttons on his shirt and pulled it over his head, removed his trousers and managed to force himself to brush his teeth before falling into bed. His final thought was an admonition that he really should go over his own paper one final time, but he fell asleep before the thought could take shape.

Waking up was a little easier on Tuesday after his long sleep. Refreshed, he showered at dawn and went over his own papers a second time, nervous about speaking in front of such an audience. _Chappelle should've done this Almeida, not you._ _He sure admires the sound of his own voice!_ He drew a deep breath to calm himself. _Focus Almeida. Just pick a point on the back wall and stare at it. You'll be fine!_

Michelle called him as he breakfasted alone in the hotel dining room. She assured him he'd give an excellent speech and said she wished she could see him deliver it. She was off to the aquarium with his parents that day, and then visit a national park with koalas. 'Sounds great,' Tony told her. 'You sure you don't wanna swap with me, sweetheart? I kinda like koalas!' She laughed at him and assured him he'd do well before saying goodbye. _Only another three days after this one before you see her again, Almeida. You'll cope with that!_

Tony fidgeted through the first lecture delivered by a Frenchman with a strong accent, reading through his notes in increasing discomfort. He found himself rubbing his face and the pen he twirled in his fingers snapped in two. _Settle down, Almeida, you can do this. It's not as though you never addressed a crowd before. After all, you gave your men plenty of orders back in the Marines!_ He failed to comfort himself. _Those guys kinda had to listen, though. These people are almost all older than you, wearing identical grey and black suits – they could've come from the same tailor!_ He wiped moist fingers surreptitiously on his trousers.

Five minutes before the lecture ended, of which he heard absolutely nothing, a black suited Australian appeared beside him. 'Mr. Almeida?' He nodded, sliding lower in his chair, well aware what the man wanted. 'Follow me, please. You're to stand at the edge of the platform, you're up next.' Tony nodded, bending down to grab his crumpled notes. 'You coming mate?' questioned the humorless organizer.

'Yeah,' he whispered, feeling as though he were being marched to his own execution. That event could not have filled him more foreboding, he was certain. They climbed a few stairs unobserved and the Australian pointed him to the side, asking him to wait there till he was announced._ I sure will! What does he expect me to do, push the speaker aside and start my own speech?_ He attempted to straighten the notes, wishing they were neat like all the previous speakers' had been. _Well, let's face it Almeida, you're not cut out to be a public speaker!_ From his spot in the shadows he ran his eyes unwisely over the audience, running the number through his head. _Five hundred delegates! It sure seems as though they're all here, too! I can't do this, Michelle!_

'Please welcome Tony Almeida from Los Angeles, who will address us on the subject: The Threat From The Educated Terrorist.' He remained where he was a moment longer, a desire to flee down the stairs surging within him.

'Go on mate,' the impatient Australian ordered, giving him a needed push. Tony found himself propelled onto the platform, the eyes of the entire audience upon him. He swallowed a lump that threatened to choke him and moved over to the stand, tidying his notes.

Eyes fixed on the back wall slightly above the sea of faces he began his lecture, mercifully forgetting about his vast audience minutes later as he spoke of the increased threat caused by the wealthier terrorist families who had been able to educate their sons in universities and colleges as opposed to the poorer ones whose offspring would merely be the hit men. Much to his surprise he received a standing ovation once he finished.

Tony stepped through the revolving doors and moved to a patch of sun, wiping the sweat from his brow. It was over and he had survived. He propped his elbows on a brick wall and shut his eyes, his body shaking.

'Tony Almeida? That was great, I can see you've had personal experience with this subject,' a man began in Spanish. 'Roberto Palma,' he said, smiling warmly. Tony opened his eyes and regarded the Spanish delegate, who had previously been just another grey suited bureaucrat.

'Gracias,' he said softly, taking a deep breath.

'I can see you speak perfect Spanish and that's great, as your topic is a subject that causes us great concern. You must come to repeat this lecture in Madrid next month, in Spanish.'

Tony found himself shaking his head. 'Sir, I'm real sorry, but I can't,' he said. 'I'll find someone else to deliver it instead.'

'Por que no? Your Spanish is fine.'

Tony licked his lips in silence, feeling the man wait beside him for an answer. 'Sir, I'm an agent, not a public speaker. I managed to get through this today, but it's not an experience I wish to repeat. I'll find you another Spanish speaker,' he began.

'Mr. Almeida, your subject is a real comprehensive one, and whilst another Spanish speaker could certainly deliver it, he or she might not be able to answer all the questions we would surely like to ask. I will personally request your presence from your boss.' He gave the horrified Tony a warm handshake. 'Enjoy the sunshine; this next talk can easily be missed!' He left Tony alone beside the stairs.

His cell rang moments later and he answered it, his heart leaping at the caller ID. 'Hey sweetheart.'

'How did it go, Tony?'

'I survived,' he told her leaning against the wall. 'I got a problem I'll need your help with. The Spanish delegate liked my lecture so much he wants me to repeat it in Madrid! He's gonna call Chappelle to ask for me. Honey, he just wouldn't listen to the word "no"'.

Michelle laughed aloud, the sound charming him. 'Tony, that's great. Listen, if you see him again tell him you reconsidered, no sweetheart, don't interrupt. You have to go anyway, might as well get a good deal. Tell him you'll do it if he pays your wife's ticket also! I've never been there.'

He found himself nodding slowly. 'If there's no way I can avoid going, I'll tell him. Tell me about the aquarium instead,' he begged.

The rest of the meeting passed rapidly and he enjoyed every remaining day as he was no longer plagued by the thought of presenting his own lecture. Names and pictures of terrorists and suspected terrorists were shown and he stored them all, eating at different tables every mealtime. By Friday night he had several new acquaintances to bid farewell to as he hurried back to collect his things and get to the airport. That night he flew to Cairns to join Michelle and fall asleep in her arms.

The airport he arrived at was small and almost totally empty as only a handful of relatives waited in the darkness. He found himself pulled into Michelle's arms as soon as he left the connecting corridor. 'Tony, you're back! It's been real quiet without you,' she told him, kissing him.

He nodded. 'You too. Honey I'm so tired I can barely stand.'

'It's okay sweetheart, we hired a car. I'll drive you over to the hotel. It's real entertaining driving on the wrong side of the road in the dark!'

'I'll bet,' he said wryly and collected his suitcase while she struggled with his backpack. 'I can take it, honey.'

'I'm fine,' Michelle hissed, shaking her head at him. 'And you lecture me about taking too much stuff on vacation!'

'They're all my notes from the conference,' he told her grinning. He settled into a large 4WD and fell asleep on the drive to the hotel. Michelle shook him awake.

'Tony, I can take your stuff inside, but there's no way I'll manage to drag you in too! Get up.'

Once upstairs he felt a lot better, the cheerful room with its yellow color theme cheering him. Michelle removed her clothes and entered the bathroom. Moments later he heard the shower turned on and he stripped rapidly, determined to join her. Tiptoeing to the bathroom he peered through a crack in the shower curtain seeing her leaning against the tiles with closed eyes reveling in the warmth. He laughed aloud as he joined her, wrapping her in her arms. 'Honey, I never saw a creature who loved the warmth more than you,' he teased, drawing her into his arms. 'Whatever would you do if we found ourselves back in the Stone Age?'

'I'd be fine,' she assured him. 'We're married, aren't we?' she added to his raised eyebrow. 'You'd just be a little more occupied than now, collecting sticks for a real HUGE fire.'

'And you'd use ALL the hot water,' he told her grimacing, 'just like at home! You'd leave me ice cold water to wash in, or not,' he added with a grin, 'and then I'd fall across the bed too tired to eat.'

'Oh no honey, you'd have to go hunt some food,' she told him merrily. 'And then skin it and chop it up. I can't do that! And you'd better cook it too,' she added and he nodded.

'Yeah, if I got to hunt it and chop it up I'd better cook it alright! Forget the stone age!' He rubbed soap over her and she washed him. 'Did I ever tell you how attractive you are in the shower, Michelle?' he asked, kissing her wet shoulder.

'You might have, but you can tell me again. We learn by repetition.' Tony turned off the water and reached for the largest towel on the handrail, wrapping her into it and depositing her on the bed. 'God I missed you.' He tickled her gently, feeling her struggles intensify until she squealed, clapping a hand round her mouth.

'Tony you got to stop,' she begged. 'Stop now. Your parents are in the next room.'

He rolled his eyes, stopping instantly. 'They couldn't have taken a room just a little further?' he asked, pulling a face. She chewed her lip, shaking her head. He gave a theatrical sigh. 'Ok, we'll have to be real quiet then.' She nodded and he rolled her over freeing her from the towel. 'Come here,' he whispered seductively.

She slid over to him, pinning him down. 'So tell me what you heard at the conference Mr. Almeida. Tell me now, or I'll remove your fingernails one by one.'

'Oh, my curly haired barbarian, women don't do stuff like that,' he assured her wrongly. 'A real woman cooks and cleans the house and leaves important stuff like interrogating enemies to her husband! Ow,' he cried as she punched his arm. 'Ow, ow, Michelle, I surrender, ok. I'll tell you everything I know.' He rolled away, inadvertently pushing something that lay on the bed. They both heard a loud thud and moments later movement reached their ears from behind the wall.

'Oops,' Tony whispered, biting his lips like a child caught out in some mischief. 'I guess they know I've arrived!' He picked his backpack up and moved it under a chair.

She nodded amused. 'I guess they do. Bedtime, Tony!'


	4. The Anniversary

Tony slid onto his chair in the hotel dining room with a sheepish look on his face. 'Hey Mom, Papa,' he greeted.

His mother pulled him into her arms and kissed him. 'Did you have a good flight, sweetheart?'

'Yeah,' he mumbled, watching his father's knowing grin from the corner of his eyes. He squirmed in his mother's embrace, disentangling himself_. Dammit Papa, don't look at me like that! She's my WIFE! _'I'll get some coffee,' he said, his face burning. He took his cup and Michelle's and headed over to the buffet. A rich aroma of coffee met his nostrils as he poured the dark liquid into their cups. _Smells okay._

'Sorry, Tony,' his father apologized, pouring himself a second cup. 'I didn't mean to embarrass you. No guy with nine children has the right to tease anyone. Why don't you try some of that tropical fruit? Some of it is quite good.' He laid a star fruit onto his plate. 'That one's actually got a little taste. Forget those,' he advised, pointing to another orange fruit that looked as though it had been squashed.

'Yeah,' he agreed, repelled by its appearance. He piled his plate with toast, eggs and tomatoes and returned to fill Michelle's plate. 'You guys got any plans for today?'

They all spoke at once and he struggled to comprehend them. There was something about crocodiles from Michelle, tropical flowers in some botanical garden from his mother and miles of pristine beaches from his father. 'So what are we doin' first?' he inquired casually, listening to the ensuing argument whilst he finished his breakfast. In the end they resolved to make a quick tour of the botanical garden first before joining the river cruise in the afternoon. Tony nodded, repressing a sigh at the thought of the botanical garden, the one option he would cheerfully have left till last.

Michelle held his hand dragging him round the exhibits, exclaiming enthusiastically while he did his best to nod. 'Aha,' he muttered for the hundredth time as she waved her hand at yet another flowering tree.

'Eucalyptus ficifolia, Tony.'

'Aha,' he repeated, wiping the sweat from his brow. Beside him his mother pulled out her camera for what he would have sworn was the fiftieth photo.

'Tony, stand beside Michelle. Not there honey, I need to see the flowers too. Smile,' she told him sternly and he smiled wearily. _Where did Papa disappear to? He must've grown sick of his role as photographer!_ Once he was released he told them he'd find his father and watched them walk ahead, stopping to examine the next flower. He backtracked, searching the garden till he reached a secluded corner. Mr. Almeida sat on a bench beside a pond watching a group of tropical fish swim around. Tony gave him a sympathetic nod and settled beside him.

'They nearly done?' his father inquired casually.

'Don't think so,' he admitted. 'We got another hour yet before we need to get lunch and I can't see them leaving till then.' He fell silent as an unknown bird sang above them.

'Are we facing much threat from friendly nations' terrorists?' his father inquired. 'Was the conference worth it?'

He nodded. 'It certainly gave me lots to think about. As long as I got their names we'll keep tabs on them as we do on our own suspects and it'll be ok. It was pretty intense all presented at once.' He shut his eyes taking a few minutes to rest. 'The Spanish delegate wanted me to repeat the lecture in Madrid,' he told his father, allowing himself to fall asleep in the shade. All too soon Michelle shook him awake.

'Tony, it's time for the crocodile cruise. Get up,' she instructed and he obeyed, eating a quick lunch in the cafeteria before driving to join the boat cruise. The trip proved a lot more entertaining that the visit to the garden. They settled in a large boat under an awning sweltering in the heat. The inside of the cabin was air-conditioned but surrounded with bullet proof glass. Idly he wondered why the thick glass, surely the air conditioning didn't require it?

'G'day,' began a heavily accented Australian voice and a man wearing a tropical jungle suit with a bush hat stood up. Tony watched the dozens of bits of cork swinging from it in silent amazement. 'Now I hope you folks all followed the pamphlet's advice and put on PLENTY of insect repellent. Who's seen the movie Crocodile Dundee?'

Every hand went up. There were another group of Americans at the back drinking bottled water and trying not to look too hot, and a busload of Japanese tourists with their obligation cameras round their necks.

'Great. Just as long as you folks remember it was JUST a movie! You can't outrun crocs, or wring their necks! We're gonna see some large bastards today. River is infested with em. Don't even try putting your hands over the edge, crocs can jump and they will. Once we get into some wetlands I'll stop the boat and throw some chicken overboard and they'll come real close. You can take all the pictures you want then. Any questions?'

'Yes, how many people do they kill annually?' asked a sweating Japanese.

Tony rolled his eyes in exasperation, waving another couple of flies off his face. 'They don't kill anyone!'

'The last tourist to get killed was an American,' the tour guide said, an eye on him. Beside him Michelle gave a startled gasp. 'Two young ladies, similar to your age madam,' he gave her a cheery smile, 'decided to go swimming in some billabong despite their guide's warning. Only one made it out.'

Michelle's eyes widened and his mother moved nervously on his other side, twirling her wedding ring round her finger. 'So we'll wait till we get back to the beach before we go swimming,' he told them, settling more comfortably into his seat. It would be an entertaining trip, he could tell_. If only there weren't so many flies. Where do they all come from?_

The boat started off and he opened his backpack, handing Michelle a banana. They ate together taking it in turns to peer into the murky water. 'I don't see anything. They must live further,' Michelle said with a sigh.

'Whole river's infested,' the guide told her. 'Look, there's a bastard right there, behind that bush.' He pointed and they strained their eyes.

'Oh my God, it's' huge,' she cried excitedly. 'Are there any others?'

'Where there's one, there's more,' the guide told her, apparently singling her out for special attention. 'Come here,' he said, taking her hand and pulling her to the front. 'There's one swimming over there, you can see its nose.'

Tony threw a disgruntled look at his parents as the guide chatted to Michelle while he steered the boat. 'She's MY wife,' he muttered in mock annoyance.

'She's the only beautiful young woman on the tour,' his father said amused. 'Guy's not totally mad, Tony.'

'Gracias, Marco,' his mother said, turning to stare over the edge of the boat. Tony used all his training to fight back his laugh.

'Sweetheart, that's not how I meant it,' his father assured her, taking her hand. 'I only meant…'

'I know what you meant, Marco. I'm getting old now.'

'No mom, he meant that the guide knows he'd be thrown overboard if he so much as gave you a second look,' Tony told her, 'whilst he can see I'm a wimp.'

'Exactly,' his father agreed, taking her hand. 'Sweetheart, you're even more beautiful than when we first met.'

Tony peered over the edge of the boat while they reminisced. He'd heard them discussing their first meeting dozens of times before but he never grew tired of the story. Michelle appeared to have forgotten about him temporarily as she perched on the bows of the boat admiring ever large crocodiles. Presently the boat stopped and the guide called them together.

'At this stage of the tour I throw a few old chicken heads to attract the crocs,' he explained. 'I want you all to stand back and whatever else you do, don't approach the crocs.' He threw several heads into the river and they heard some splashing sounds as crocs sunbathing he hadn't even noticed slid into the water. One piece was held up and they watched a large crocodile leap out of the river. Michelle gasped and pressed closer against him. He slid his arm about her, glad to have her back.

'There's a massive one on the other side of the boat,' she said, taking his arm. 'It's not getting fed. Come see, Tony.'

They peered over the opposite side together, Tony eyeing a mean eyed monster. 'Wonder how far this one could jump,' he mused, opening his backpack. 'I got a ham sandwich left. You're right; it shouldn't miss lunch just for being on the wrong side of the boat! Stand back, Michelle.'

She threw him an excited nervous look, urging him on but begging him to exercise caution, her gaze reminding him of his younger sister when he had prepared for one of his pranks. She stood well back as he leaned over and held the sandwich in the air. For the slightest moment time stood still while he held the crocodile's eyes, before something in them warned him to drop the sandwich. He stepped back and they watched as the largest beast in the river leapt straight towards them. Michelle shuddered in his arms as its head cleared the rails and despite knowing it could not climb onto the boat he felt a shiver down his own spine.

'Antonio, what are you _doing_?' his mother gasped in Spanish, her face horrified. For the briefest moment he worried she would slap him in front of Michelle, but she settled on taking him by the shoulder and pushing him ahead of her to the back of the boat, telling him what she thought of his actions in no uncertain terms.

'I'm sorry mom,' he apologized. 'I haven't got anything else, you don't need to worry.'

Hours later as they sat alone on a golden beach admiring the brief twilight they were still in fits of laughter. 'You know Tony, I thought she'd smack you,' Michelle told him, cuddling up to him, chilled from their long swim.

'Now honey, you surely can't imagine she'd do anything like that?' he asked, wrapping a towel round her. 'I'm an adult, I'm the director of CTU…I was lucky you were around,' he admitted. 'Come on Michelle, I was just trying to show you I can do exactly the same as that loud mouthed tour guide,' he sighed, watching her face change from amusement to bewilderment.

'Tony, you don't _ever_ have to get my attention by impressing me, you do know that, don't you? You're the bravest man I've ever met, I love you.'

'You haven't met terribly many men sweetheart,' he whispered delighted. _She just called you brave, Almeida, and you haven't even told her about that time you were captured with your platoon. _He attempted to push the thought from his mind as the familiar sick feeling rose in his stomach. _It's classified for a reason. Repeating that tale would kill you. "We're surrounded sir. We're not gonna make it out." "Take the men Koskinen, I'll provide a little distraction!" "I'll do that sir." He had glared at the equally obstinate sergeant. "You're hit, that arm needs treatment. Take the men and get the hell outa here, that's an order." Steady grey eyes met his own. "You're not gonna make it out, sir." He had sighed. "I know that. Dammit, get moving. This is MY responsibility, I should have seen this!" He had been captured and stripped and hung by his arms and they'd started asking him questions…_Tony pressed a hand over his mouth and rose, shaking slightly despite the heat.

'Tony,' she asked worried about his grey pallor. 'What's wrong?'

He shook his head, managing to mutter something about being fine before walking back into the ocean_. Will you just forget about it, Almeida! All those men who heard you scream and cry are dead, and you didn't tell them anything!_

'TONY!' Michelle called, and getting no response threw her towel on the sand and rushed after him. 'Wait up.' He managed to pull himself together by the time she reached him and even conjured a smile. 'What's wrong?' she pressed, searching his face.

'Nothing honey, I just figured it would make sense having a final swim before we go back for dinner,' he lied, swimming under the water and pulling her after him. She dunked him after she came up for breath and they splashed each other, Michelle giggling like a schoolgirl as he chased her with a piece of rotting seaweed.

'Don't you throw that at me, Tony! Tony, no, stop,' she shrieked as he threw the bunch a couple of inches from her. 'Just you wait, this is payback time. I'm gonna…' She paused, her hand inches from the rotting mess.

'You were saying, honey?' he pressed, curious to see whether she would bring herself to touch it.

'I'll think of something else,' she assured him. 'Tony, your parents will be expecting us for dinner. We got to get changed now.' They collected their towels and beach bags. 'I really love the tropics,' she sighed. 'The weather's great!'

He nodded in agreement. 'Yeah. What do you hate most, sweetheart? Somewhere cold?'

She gave a firm nod. 'Cold flat land with nothing to see. If the place is cold, it should at least have mountains!'

Tony shrugged, taking her bag from her hand. 'Mountains would make it even colder, I guess,' he told her. 'Come on, I'm getting hungry.' They parted ways, moving into their respective change rooms to shower and dress. As usual he was ready long before Michelle. He settled on a bench and amused himself watching the tranquil ocean while he waited.

'Hey sweetheart, were you waiting long?' she inquired cheerfully.

Tony shrugged. 'I just got here,' he told her tongue in cheek, grinning as she swatted his shoulder.

Tony's parents smiled knowingly as they entered the restaurant hand in hand. 'Have fun at the beach?' his father inquired raising his eyebrows.

Michelle blushed to the roots of her hair. 'I couldn't drag him away without a last swim,' she explained, sliding into her seat. 'Did we keep you waiting long?'

'Only half an hour,' said Tony's father cheerfully. He appeared a lot more relaxed than usual on this vacation and he grinned at her warmly. 'We've already ordered dinner, for you two as well. Now what are we doing tomorrow, as it's our last day here?'

'We'll spend it on the beach,' Tony said firmly, eyeing them all in turn to dare anyone to object. 'There are still plenty of beaches we haven't seen yet. I'd like to visit them all tomorrow!'

'Sure honey,' his mother agreed, stroking his hand with a finger.

'We can try,' his father agreed doubtfully. 'Of course it might be rather hard to drive round the entire continent in one day, but I'll wake you up early!'

Tony rolled his eyes, while Michelle giggled. 'You had that coming,' she told him, laughing at his expression. 'And we're going to celebrate our anniversary tomorrow night.'

They spoke of the special dinner they would have, Michelle and his mother having booked a table at the most romantic restaurant in town. Tony watched her shining eyes and squeezed her hands, his heart threatening to burst. _You're real lucky, Almeida. You'll never know what she sees in you. Just be thankful she loves you so much._ Feeling her hand return his squeeze he knew he would love her as long as he lived and would protect her with his life if necessary.

* * *

Chase folded his arms and studied his boss in silence, wondering when he would look up from the folder he appeared engrossed in. 'Chase?'

'Yeah Jack, I'm here,' he said, patiently.

'You don't seem to be doing too much right now. Take some of these and deal with them, would you?' He nodded his head at the mountain of folders on the floor.

Chase stared at him in surprise. 'I don't have the necessary security clearance for all of them,' he reminded Jack, reluctant to be burdened with such a task.

'You do now,' Jack assured him. 'I've given you a Level 4 clearance for the day. Get on with it; I got Mr. Chappelle breathing down my neck.'

'Aren't some of these Tony's?' Chase grumbled. 'When's he back, anyway?'

'They're mostly Tony's, and there's no way in hell he'd have a chance of completing them all when he gets back,' Jack explained, strangely reluctant to burden his partner, who was bound to be exhausted from his flight, with such a horrendous task. 'We're gonna clear some for him. He's back on Tuesday.' They exchanged relieved looks and Jack bent down, lifting as many folders as fit into his arms, dumping them into Chase's hands. 'Get started.'

* * *

The last day of their vacation was the best. They spent it driving along the coast examining ever more enchanting coastlines. He felt mild regret when they turned back to enable them to prepare for the evening. Tony showered first and dressed while Michelle washed her hair, needing a few minutes undisturbed. He peered into the bathroom noting her busy with the shampoo and knelt on the ground beside the suitcase, hunting through it to locate a small velvet box that he bought for her in Melbourne. A sixth sense warned him of her presence before her shadow fell across him and he pushed it deep under his clothes. 'Michelle, you're peeking!'

She gave him a guilty look.

'Now get back in that shower before I lose your present,' he ordered in his best official voice, fighting to keep his amusement concealed.

'I'm on my way,' she assured him, darting back to the bathroom. Tony folded his arms and watched her return to the shower before he pulled the box out and slid it inside his pocket.

Michelle and his mother had chosen well. The restaurant was as romantic as any he had been to in LA, dimly lit with a candle illuminating each individual table. Tony pulled her chair out and she settled beside him while his parents settled opposite. 'So it's been a year already,' his father remarked, shaking his head slightly. 'And Michelle hasn't run for her life! This calls for a toast. May the two of you be as happy together as we are,' he reached for his wife's hand, 'and don't neglect the part of "multiply and fill every corner of the earth." We're waiting for more grandchildren!'

Tony blushed and grinned at the same time. 'We'll get there, Papa.' He sipped his own wine and turned to Michelle, taking her hand in his. 'I loved you from the moment I first set eyes on you, Michelle. For the first time in my life I showed up at work early, just to be able to watch you hurrying in and get to pass you a hot coffee. Never in my wildest dreams did I dare hope you would return my feelings. Guess I was a little hopeless back then. There's no way I'd ever have dared ask you out and face your rejection and lose the best friendship I ever had. Thank you for taking the first step.' He drew her towards him and kissed her deeply. 'When you married me, you made me the luckiest man in the world.' He pulled the box from his pocket. 'This is for you sweetheart.'

Michelle opened the box eagerly while he watched her, noting his mother wipe a tear from the corner of her eye. She pulled out the necklace he had chosen for her so carefully, admiring a simple chain filled with tiny circular balls. 'Tony, it's lovely,' she whispered, the breath catching in her throat. 'It must have cost a fortune.'

'If anyone deserves it, it's you,' he assured her, helping her put it on. 'It's to remind you of our first year together and our first vacation.' He took her hand gently in his own, oblivious to anyone but her. 'The first of many,' he promised. 'We'll explore every corner of the globe together; go on dozens of boat cruises…'

Everyone laughed. 'It's been rather hot today,' Michelle said in a worried tone, placing a hand on his forehead. 'You sound sick!'

Tony grinned at her. 'I'm fine. I'm just promising I'll be a better husband from now on.'

'You're already great, sweetheart,' she assured him. 'Just stay the way you are.' Her arms wrapped round his neck, pulling him close for a kiss. Tony reached forward to wrap his arms round her and placed his lips on hers.

'I love you, sweetheart. Happy anniversary.'


	5. Leaving Sydney

Tony laid their tickets on the counter before the check-in official and pulled his passport out. 'Could we have a window seat?' he inquired, determined to see as much of the continent as he could.

'We got a slight problem, sir,' the clerk informed him. 'AA 7319 to Los Angeles has been delayed. We're asking all passengers to move to the information desk.'

Tony narrowed his eyes. 'Delayed? What happened?'

'Nothing much, sir. The plane was forced to make a stop in Hawaii due to mechanical faults. They'll help you at the information counter.'

Tony collected their papers and left the queue reluctantly, followed by his mystified family. He explained what the official had told him and they joined a growing crowd at the information counter. All the seats were occupied with the disgruntled earliest arrivals. Several children ran around hyped up from the excitement of travel while their parents' expressions reflected every emotion on the spectrum from annoyance to resignation. Michelle settled onto one of the suitcases and sighed. 'This would have to happen on our perfect vacation!'

'Now honey, it's not necessarily a bad thing,' he began. 'They'll have to put us up and we haven't seen Sydney yet! And Ryan can't blast us for returning a day late! I'd take the deal!' His eyes sparkled with anticipation as he met hers, noting an answering grin in them.

An official arrived with a loudspeaker. 'Ladies and gentlemen, American Airlines apologizes for the inconvenience. It now appears that the mechanical faults are a little more complicated than on initial inspection so the plane is forced to remain in Hawaii.' She paused to wait for the murmurs of displeasure this generated. 'The Australian airline Qantas has 15 empty seats to LA. We are reserving them for passengers accompanied by minor children or passengers over 70.'

'Everybody else is welcome to make their own way home,' Tony whispered into her ear. 'Canoes are going cheap!' Michelle chewed her lip to keep silent, giving her head a slight shake.

'What about us?' demanded an overweight middle aged woman with a surly expression.

'If you could just bear with me a moment, madam,' the official begged. 'I'm going to announce the names of those passengers we've rescheduled first.' She read out a list and the favored few moved off. 'If I could have your attention,' the official begged, interrupting the renewed complaining their departure generated. 'You are all going home, I assure you. Now the next flight with available seating isn't due for another five days, so those of you who need to return before then please step across to my left.'

'Tony, come on,' Michelle told him as he remained beside the suitcases with folded arms. 'We can't stay for five extra days! Ryan wouldn't accept that.'

'Tony, I must return to work,' his father agreed reluctantly. 'Your mother does too.' He glanced at his son before pushing their trolleys over to the left. He sighed and followed the rest of his family accepting the logic of their statements whilst warring with it internally. Just for once he could have stayed in an interesting new city with all expenses paid for five days and work had to ruin that!

'Thank you. Those of you who do not have an urgent reason to travel will be allocated hotels. I ask your patience. Those of you with compelling reason to travel will be rescheduled to other airlines though the route to LA will involve changing planes a couple of times. We are routing you all through Singapore on Qantas flights and will assign you seats on various airlines that will then return to their home countries where you can catch a connecting flight back to the US.'

A general groan followed her explanation. Tony seized Michelle's palm and pulled his finger in a circular pattern round it. 'Round and round the garden…' he murmured.

His mother sighed quietly. 'Guess you've got to be young to deal with this kind of trip,' she lamented.

'Luckily, we are,' her husband whispered back, slipping his arm around her. Michelle watched them fascinated, never failing to marvel at the obvious love between the pair. What they would have been like as newly weds could only be guessed at. Furtively she glanced at her own husband who was engaged in his customary pursuit of rubbing his face, surveying the terminal with narrowed eyes. She watched the corners of his lips turn up and prepared herself for another sardonic comment.

'Ladies and gentlemen, Mumbo Jumbo flight 1 welcomes you aboard,' he whispered into her ear. 'We assure you of our airline's perfect safety record as our one and only plane is still flying since the days of earliest aviation…'

Michelle was unable to contain her amusement, forced to bury her face in her handkerchief to avoid the irritated passengers' annoyance at one of their number so obviously lacking solidarity with the group. Understanding her desire to hide, Tony gently pushed her behind him, pulling her face into his shirt. A few muffled sounds emanated from her, strangled by his hand which he gently placed over her mouth, chewing his lip to keep his amusement under check. His father threw him a resigned look, reminded of the countless times he had whispered something to his younger sisters resulting in gales of giggles from all four of them at the most inopportune moments. 'Antonio,' he said mildly.

Tony threw him an apologetic expression and returned his attention to the increasingly harassed official. 'What kinds of airlines are you plannin' on using?' demanded the same overweight woman as before. 'We paid for a decent airline; we're not going on no crap!'

'Couldn't have expressed it better myself,' Tony was unable to resist whispering into her ear.

Michelle shook her head against his chest, her shoulders shaking harder. She chewed her lip in a vain attempt to settle, relieved when Tony's father laid a hand on his shoulder and gave him a firm push to the opposite side of their luggage. Suitably chastened, Tony resumed his air of slightly bored frequent flier, crossing his arms across his chest.

'I can assure you that all of you will be relocated to reputable airlines,' the official insisted. You have a choice of Cathay Pacific, Lufthansa, KLM, Alitalia…'

'Tony, lets take Alitalia,' Michelle begged, joining him. 'It goes to Rome, and we've never been there. Think of all the sites…'

He glanced quickly at his parents who nodded their approval. 'We'll go on Alitalia,' he volunteered. The official looked relieved and crossed their names off her list. She typed something into her computer and asked them to return for their tickets within the hour.

'That's hardly enough time to do anymore than grab a coffee,' Tony muttered regretfully.

'Looks like we'll see Rome,' his mother comforted, understanding his disappointment at being denied a chance to explore Sydney. 'I went there for two weeks with Abuela when I was sixteen, it was the perfect vacation.' She smiled at the memory and Tony forced himself to nod back, wondering how any trip with his irritable grandmother could possibly be described as "perfect." 'Abuela went down with appendicitis and ended up in hospital, so your uncles and I toured the city alone.' His grin widened as he met her eyes which resembled those of a convict granted an unexpected reprieve.

'This is the final call for Garuda flight 9 to Denpasar,' floated over the P.A. system. 'All passengers please make your way through customs.'

'Where's that?' Michelle asked softly.

Tony glanced at groups of young people hurrying to customs carrying surfboards. 'Somewhere with good waves,' he observed.

'It's the capital of the island of Bali,' Mr. Almeida replied with a smug expression. He glanced round the group. 'There appear to be some benefits to the old system of education!' His eyes rested on Michelle who chewed her upper lip and his wife who appeared engrossed in a poster. 'And that belongs to…Come on Tony, I spent hours with you over geography. Don't tell me you've forgotten!'

'Ah, no, I haven't,' Tony told him, his brain working furiously. 'The island is part of er, ah, Indonesia,' he said firmly, meeting his father's eyes. _Are you ever gonna stop treating me like a school kid, papa?_

'Well done,' his mother exclaimed, proudly. 'I could never remember these tiny places.'

'You were never taught about them, sweetheart,' her husband assured her.

Tony fell back a step, nodding his head at the screen indicating departures. 'It says Garuda Indonesia,' he admitted quietly to Michelle, earning him a swift punch on the shoulder.

'So you noticed that all along, Tony, and just acted knowledgeable,' she exclaimed. 'How can you manage to pull it off?' He gave her a wicked grin and they quickened their pace to join his parents. 'I'm impressed, Marco,' she told him. 'How in the world can you remember that after all these years?' Hearing the words leave her mouth caused her to bite her tongue in embarrassment. 'I mean,' she began, turning red at Tony's strangled laughter.

'I know dear, how can I remember anything about school all these hundreds of years since I've finished,' Marco said wryly. 'Thing is, back in those days people were not so concerned with children's rights. We had an irritable teacher who carried a real large stick, and well, it really wasn't advisable to fail to answer his questions correctly! Every so often, when he was in an exceptionally bad mood he would question us about some continent we studied the previous year and demand to know the height of some obscure mountain peak, or the main export of Papua New Guinea.'

'I'm real glad I wasn't there,' Michelle said with feeling.

'Well let me tell you Papa wasn't much better,' Tony assured her, enjoying the ambience of an international airport. 'He just lacked the stick!'

'Now Tony…'

'Yeah, Papa. Don't think I've forgotten. I had to miss Batman just because I couldn't put my finger on Palau immediately!' He shook his head in disgust.

'And you still remember,' Marco sighed. 'It was entirely your fault, Tony, I gave you an hour to study the Pacific islands and you spent it messing around. Anyway, if you hadn't grumbled so much I might even have excused you…'

'I didn't grumble!' he exclaimed indignantly. 'I merely pointed out that we're unlikely to visit that place ever so it's not real important! And then do you know what Papa done?' He glanced at Michelle who hung on his words with bated breath. 'He spanked me! And then the next day we continued those Pacific islands and I figured I'd better take a real good look at them this time, so when Papa asked about Cuyo I said 'sure, I can show you the most important spot in the whole world,' and he still wasn't satisfied! He spanked me again for giving lip! So you wouldn't have had fun in his geography class sweetheart, believe me. Or maybe you would,' he added, glancing at his amused father. 'He never punished my sisters. Right before he asked me about Palau he asked Janey to show him Antarctica, and she pointed to Greenland, and Papa just made this hissing sound like he was getting a tooth extracted without anesthetic, but he didn't yell at her – no! He just told her to try again!'

'And here's the café,' his mother interrupted, leading the way to an unoccupied table. 'Come with me Michelle, let's pick some cakes. Don't pay attention to Marco, honey; he's got a thing about education! Just between us, I've yet to meet to meet a man, however sweet, who's totally sane!'

'How can you say that, Rita?' she protested, struggling to choose between two cheese cakes. 'You have four sons.'

'Exactly,' replied Tony's mother, deftly blocking the overweight passenger who had previously complained from pushing her way into the queue. 'Take both of them sweetheart, you're terribly thin!' She ordered five cakes, two for her newest daughter-in-law. 'It's our treat,' she insisted. 'We've got a real long flight ahead of us, and well, airplane food…'

Michelle nodded, having conceded the battle over food to Tony's mother soon after they met. She was destined to enjoy two cheese cakes while everyone else had one, followed by some delicious meals on the planes. As far as she was concerned, airplane food was fine, better yet; she had nothing to do with its preparation!

Tony pulled their chairs out as they returned with two trays grinning warmly at his mother. 'That was neatly blocked, mom.'

His mother nodded. 'I wasn't always a mother, sweetheart. Nobody jumps queues before Rita Torres!'

Once again Michelle marveled at their intense personalities. Tony's mother was the more outgoing of the pair, lively, talkative with sudden flashes of temper, her life's mission a keen desire to protect her numerous offspring. His father appeared the opposite; contemplating events with an intense expression, quiet with a wry sense of humor. Tony assured her he could be provoked into displays of temper himself though she had yet to witness such an event. 'Go halves over this one, sweetheart?' Tony asked, interrupting her thoughts as he pointed to her second cake.

'No, Antonio, let her eat them, she's much too thin,' his mother said before she was able to nod her permission.

All too soon the hour passed and they moved over to join the queue at passport control. Tony carried his backpack and laptop, Michelle's carry on bag in his other arm while she fished the boarding passes from his pocket. A short while later they boarded a Boeing 767, Tony generously allowing Michelle to claim the window seat. 'Just keep your head against your seat so I get a chance to look out,' he begged, forcing her bag into the overhead locker. 'Dammit, these lockers are not real large!'

Michelle threw him a guilty look, chewing her lip. 'Sorry, sweetheart. There's no way they would've allowed any more weight in the suitcase,' she apologized.

'You've been shopping!' he guessed, thrilled to note her face color. 'But honey, you didn't have to squash all your newest purchases in your hand luggage. You could've put some in my suitcase. I've got plenty of room.'

Michelle developed a sudden interest in her seatbelt, her fingers pressing the clasp. Tony left the locker hanging open and bent over her, his interrogator's senses on full alert. 'What aren't you tellin' me, sweetheart? Am I gonna be hounded by creditors for the next coupla years?' he teased, praying it wasn't so.

'No no, honey, it's just that…well look, I did find some dresses and cardigans – and a couple of sweaters…They _are_ in your suitcase,' she admitted in a rush. 'There wasn't room in mine.'

'So what's in that bag?' he demanded, kicking himself for being unable to add two and two together.

Her blush deepened. 'Ah, honey, they're actually your things,' she told him guiltily. 'Sweetheart, the dresses can't take being crumpled, and you're so good at ironing your shirts…'

Tony pulled a face, chuckling. 'You're gonna iron them yourself,' he decided smugly. 'After all, you crumpled them! Now lemme force this shut.'

'Antonio,' his mother said, tapping his arm from her seat directly behind Michelle. 'You can't expect poor Michelle to iron those shirts. She'll be busy unpacking and rinsing those new dresses. They're gorgeous, we bought them together one day while we left your father in peace with his drawings.'

He rolled his eyes at her, slamming the overhead locker shut with his full strength. _Don't even think of opening again…_Fortunately it remained shut and he took his seat, fastening his seatbelt as a hostess walked down the aisle, ordering his father to push his designs further in. 'The aisle must be kept clear, sir,' she said sweetly, making certain he complied. Mr. Almeida sighed, placing his plans beside the window while his wife glared at him.

'You're not thinking of leaving it there, are you?' she demanded.

'Now honey, it's got to stay there till we're in the air,' he replied, an eye on the departing hostess. 'I wouldn't want to annoy that lady! She'll bring me a real crappy dinner!'

Tony studied the surrounding planes with keen interest, pleased to recognize most designs. The safety announcement came on the screen. 'Sure hope we don't need that,' his mother said, shuddering at the sight of an inflated raft.

'Mom, look at it this way. If we're destined to go swimming, at least it'll be in warm water,' Tony teased, his face serious. 'Just remember to bring something to drink.' His father glared at him, placing his hand over his wife's, muttering soothing words to her in inaudible Spanish. Michelle threw him a puzzled look. 'Mom hates flying,' Tony whispered into her ear, pretending to arrange a stray curl. 'She doesn't like anyone to know, but it's a real effort for her to get on at all. Whenever we went to visit her relatives in Chicago we always took the train! She says she likes the option of jumping off!'

'She likes to retain an element of control over her own life,' Michelle observed. 'I can understand that, sweetheart.'

Tony nodded, remembering how he hated being put under before surgery. 'It's gonna be fine, mom. We're on a reputable airline and it's hardly busy airspace!' His mother nodded.

'Just as long as there aren't any football players on board,' Michelle whispered. 'They do have a poor track record…'

'They don't even play the game here,' Tony assured her, fastening his seatbelt as the engines' roars strengthened. The plane reversed from the parking bay and rolled along the tarmac, taxiing to the edge of the runway directly behind another Qantas. Michelle's hand slipped into his own as a ring sounded.

'Cabin crew be seated for take-off.' The plane rolled forward, the engines roared directly beside them until Michelle was afraid they would explode, and they set off, gathering speed rapidly until the front of the plane tilted forwards. Moments later the back wheels also left the tarmac and she squeezed her eyes shut, hating the sight of the earth tilted at such an acute angle directly beneath her.

'Sweetheart, open your eyes. You can see the ocean now, there's the opera house.' She peered out, her hands clasping his own. 'We did get to see it after all,' Tony told her, satisfied. 'It's okay, honey, we're past the point of no return, we're leveling out now.'

'What's the point of no return?' she questioned, wondering whether she really needed to know.

'Plane can't return to the airport for the first 90 seconds after initiating take-off,' he explained, pulling out a pen and notebook from his pocket. 'You remember about the 'body in motion' stuff we learned at school.' He worked on his diagram a further minute while she watched fascinated, reminded of his engineering qualifications. 'Do you understand, honey?' he asked, pointing to his picture of a rising plane surrounded by numbers indicating air speed, weight, direction and wind speed. She frowned in concentration, shaking her head. 'Basically it means it can't turn round until it's more or less level,' he explained. 'Should anything go wrong, it would crash down backwards…'

Michelle grabbed the notebook and swatted him on the head with full strength, forgetting about his parents who watched her in amusement, her actions mercifully distracting his mother from the thought of flying. 'Now sweetheart,' he protested automatically, returning his notebook.

'You got lousy timing, Tony,' she replied crossly. 'I don't wanna know this, okay! I just wanna enjoy this flight!' She drew a finger along his lips. 'That means you keep quiet. Not another word till we reach Singapore!'

The weather was perfect for flying, a steady wind pushing them all the way. An hour after take-off he noticed the appearance of the meal trolley. It appeared Michelle was as hungry as he was, letting down both their trays and turning to him with a warm smile. 'Smells good.'

Tony hugged her, nodding his head. 'Yeah. I don't suppose they'd have a spare meal?' he asked. She shook her head hurriedly, turning to face the hostess. Minutes later they were burning their tongues eating roast chicken with fresh peas surrounded by roast potatoes covered in gravy. Tony licked his lips with a sigh of regret. 'Don't you just hate it when they bring these kids sized servings,' he groaned. 'I could easily have three of these.'

'Cheer up, sweetheart. We'll arrive in another five hours, you can hold on till then,' she teased, resting her head on his shoulder. 'Tony, thanks for bringing me. It was the best vacation I've ever had.'

He kissed her hand, reminding her the vacation was not yet over. They had Singapore and Rome ahead of them. Breathing in the scent of her perfume, he vowed to buy her a gift in both places. She was right; it was undoubtedly the best vacation of his life. He turned her face towards him, kissing her.


	6. Welcome To Singapore

Changi Airport was busier than usual, forcing officials to direct the incoming Qantas flight to an outdoor bay rather than allow it to approach the airport. Two blue buses were sent to collect the passengers who scrambled for their belongings, groaning at the sight of them. Tony debated whether he could survive the journey in his black jacket, deciding he would be forced to as he had no free hands left to carry it. _You're tough, Almeida, you survived all kinds a' crap. You can take this!_ He regretted his hasty decision before he fully reached the open door. Two sweating pilots stood in the doorway bidding them farewell, longing to pull the door shut after the last of them disembarked and settle back into the relative comfort of the air conditioning. Tony followed Michelle down the stairs, each step akin to punishment as the sweat oozed off his forehead and into his burning eyes. Reaching the buses failed to bring the longed for relief he had anticipated as he stumbled along. A female official stood by the door of the nearer one with a sign stating the bus was reserved for first and second class passengers only. Three people boarded, wiping their faces. The remainder of the group was herded towards the second bus which appeared filled to capacity long before they approached.

'They gotta be kidding!' Tony exclaimed in disgust as two male officials pushed several passengers physically up the stairs. 'They're not seriously planning on putting over a hundred people on that bus? It's crazy, there's no way they'll fit.'

He was wrong. Years of experience enabled the two men, neither of whom reached his shoulders to give him a vicious shove, pushing him further into his mother, making room for Michelle. The door was slammed on her, leaving her jammed perilously against them. Cursing aloud and gasping for breath in the crowded humidity, he released his backpack and clasped her hand, prepared to save her from tumbling out the moment the doors opened. His bag remained near his knees, prevented from reaching the floor by the sheer crush of passengers.

A familiar hand reached his shoulder. 'Tony, I can't breathe.' He forced himself an inch closer to Michelle, freeing his mother who gasped in relief. The bus crawled forward, straining under the load, turning into an undercover car park before puffing its way to Terminal One. The door opened. He barely saved Michelle from an undignified entry as he was pushed forward by the crowd of passengers desperate to avoid suffocation. Once she was on the sidewalk he grasped his bag and stepped out, his father close behind, an arm around his mother as he attempted to shield her from the crush. A sign hung over an open glass sliding door. "Welcome to Singapore."

'Right,' Tony muttered, staggering up a flight of stairs behind Michelle. 'A real good welcome!' Reaching the main floor, he allowed his bags to drop onto a spotless blue carpet, leaning against the wall in his haste to unzip his jacket. Michelle moved away from them, returning with a trolley while he rubbed the salty sweat from his eyes. His father moved to help her load the hand luggage, followed by his designs. Someone removed his jacket from the floor, throwing it over the bags and his mother handed him a handkerchief.

'Wipe your face, sweetheart. There's a restroom up ahead, you can put water on it.' He nodded gratefully, following the trolley over to a group of pink armchairs. They sank down while he hurried to the restroom, determined to pour handfuls of cold water over his head. _Phew Almeida, you're getting soft! Sergeant Wills back at boot camp would certainly have pulled you out for your dismal appearance and handed you a week of KP and for once he would've been justified in doing so! You look awful!_ He paused, one foot inside the men's restroom, frozen into immobility at the sight of a toothless old woman with dark skin, large black eyes and wispy grey hair sitting calmly on an orange plastic chair beside a bin. A female presence in the naturally male domain threw him, leaving him gaping uncertainly in her direction while she ignored him, knitting as nonchalantly as though she were seated within her family room. The sight of a man leaving a cubicle and heading across to wash his hands reassured him somewhat. Tony drew a deep breath and entered, slipping past the elderly female. He was only there to wash his face, after all!

'What's wrong, sweetheart?' Michelle exclaimed as he joined them, his face sheepish.

Tony reached for a coke in relief, nodding his thanks at his father. 'You wouldn't believe it if I told you,' he replied smugly, enjoying the cold taste.

'Come on Tony, nothing you can have seen inside a restroom can possibly surprise me,' Michelle insisted. 'Was there a…'

'No, nothing like that,' he replied rapidly, swallowing large mouthfuls of coke, the bubbles rising into his nose making him cough. 'She wouldn't have approved of that!'

Michelle and his mother stared at him in astonishment. 'Stop talking in riddles, Antonio,' his father chided. 'What was there in the restroom?'

Tony leaned back against the armchair, resting his head on his arm. Eyes sparkling, he beckoned them closer, noting with satisfaction that they fell for his trick, bending towards him to catch every word. 'A woman,' he whispered.

His confession was met with derision. 'Right,' said Michelle, frowning at him.

'Can't you come up with something more original, sweetheart?' questioned his mother.

'You've only gone a coupla yards away and you already invent tall tales,' remarked his father.

'I told you nobody would believe me,' Tony replied lazily, sipping more coke. The cold drink combined with the air conditioning and the fresh water on his face helped return him to his usual playfulness. 'Why did I even bother to answer?'

'What sort of woman?' his father questioned skeptically.

'You're welcome to go check her out,' he replied, his eye on his mother, failing to miss a warning flash.

His father sighed, studied him for a few seconds and rose. 'I better not be wasting a trip,' he warned, leaving them. He returned a moment later, shaking his head. 'He's right, there _is_ a woman in there, knitting!'

'And you doubted my word,' Tony said sorrowfully. 'Marines don't lie, Papa!'

'So what does she look like?' Michelle inquired, her curiosity as to the possible appearance of a woman so out of bounds fully aroused.

Tony chewed his lip, thrilled to get a chance to explain. 'Like? What can I say?' He shook his head, rubbing his face. 'Absolutely gorgeous! She's got long black hair and oval brown eyes, with the sweetest smile…'

His father's exasperated sigh cut through his description. 'Some poor old lady assigned cleaning duty in lieu of receiving a pension, that's all. Disgraceful, really.'

Tony's mother shook her head sadly. 'There's another one,' she noted, indicating an old man stooped in the shoulders busily cleaning bins. Don't they have any heart?'

'We got five hours to kill,' Tony's father interrupted, checking their tickets. 'I doubt whether we can get our boarding passes yet. Why don't we go for a walk, we're going to be sitting inside a plane for the next twelve hours?'

They stared at him dismayed. 'It's a little hot,' Michelle protested.

'Papa can't help lining up for punishment,' Tony told her, finishing the last of his drink in a hurry. 'He's got this need to suffer!'

'It was only a suggestion,' his father said, looking at them hopefully. 'We've never been here before.'

Tony sighed aloud, reading the hope in his father's eyes. 'Ok, what can I say? You've been a great father. I'm volunteering to accompany you!'

'We'll all go,' his mother said reluctantly. Tony found some lockers to put their bags into, stripping to his t-shirt. He turned out to be the most fortunate of the group as far as suitable clothing was concerned, discovering a pair of slightly crumpled shorts in his backpack. Throwing them a wicked smirk he disappeared into the nearest restroom, emerging moments later with his jeans in his hands.

'I'm ready.'

They joined a line at customs, their papers scrutinized by an emotionless official who stared at them in silence for a full minute each before handing them a small card to fill in. He listed 'transit' as his reason for entering the country and watched as his card was stamped. "Welcome to Singapore" it stated in red letters across the top. "Warning, we have the death penalty for drug smuggling" it stated in larger letters on the reverse, just above the place which required a signature. The glass doors opened to his raised eyebrows and the full blast of the heat hit him anew. He flagged a taxi and waited till his family sat inside before entering, a strange unease nagging him. _Pull yourself together, Almeida! You're a Federal Agent, for God's sake, act like one! Just because it's real hot and crowded doesn't mean you need to sink into paranoia. There's nothing dangerous about this country._

The taxi set off, entering a never ending stream of traffic amid loud honking. They turned right and waited in a line to enter a roundabout decorated with palms and colorful flowers, every leaf in place, every blade of grass identical. People with clippers worked inches from the traffic while the cars raced past them with complete disregard for their safety. Several yards further down a man washed a bench beside a bus stop with a cloth. Michelle's round eyes followed the spectacle in awe. 'It's a real clean place,' she exclaimed.

'Oh yes, Singapore is VERY clean,' the driver agreed. 'Very clean and very safe. We got no crime here. You can walk safe anywhere at night. Now I take you to shops?'

'No,' said Tony hurriedly. 'We want to see a little of the country. Take us round the coast.'

The driver stared in astonishment. 'You don't want to go shopPING?' His incredulous look and his emphasis on the second syllable of the word 'shopping', his tone rising into a whine grated on his nerves.

'No,' he said emphatically. 'We only got five hours here. We'd like to see the country.'

The driver threw him an irritated look before joining the stream of traffic on a freeway towards the coast. They drove along, noting fewer people as they spotted the sea. 'The Strait of Malacca,' the driver explained, pulling to the side of the road beside a park.

They piled out, telling him they would walk. The park was typically well maintained, not a leaf detracting from the golf course like lawn. Unfamiliar birdsong filled the air as they hastened to the shore, noting a few children racing about in knee deep water. The rest of the beach was eerily deserted. Tony stared at the murky grey water in silence, the temptation to walk into it as far as his knees lost. Absentmindedly he placed his hand in his pocket, unwrapping a fresh packet of chewing gum, sliding two into his mouth.

The children stared at him round eyed, edging nervously over to him. Shoving each other as they approached, the boldest one addressed him. 'Is that chewing gum, mister?'

Bemused, he nodded.

'Mister, would you give us one?' the boy persisted. 'We can't get that.' Tony nodded once again and handed over the entire packet, unsurprised. Their mothers were obviously too mean to buy any for the boys, he concluded. They snatched it from his palm eagerly and raced a little distance from them, stuffing their mouths full.

'The park's nice,' his mother observed, breaking the silence. 'Let's sit on that bench, I'm real hot!'

He followed the others over to a shady bench, wiping his forehead. To his relief the bench was situated directly beneath a few trees, as spotless as everything else he had noted since his arrival. He pushed an empty cigarette pack aside and settled down, longing for another cold drink. Michelle handed him her water bottle and he was forced to use every ounce of his self control not to finish the whole lot in front of her. 'Thanks honey,' he said, returning the bottle half full. She nodded, finishing the rest, dribbles of sweat running down her brow. Her curls hung limply down her back or plastered round her face, wet to his touch as he placed one gently behind her ear. Despite her hair's sorry appearance she showed more resilience than the rest of them, chatting cheerfully about the unusual fruit to be found growing on the trees. Tony's admiration for her increased as his eyes rested on his watch. 'We should get going if we're plannin' on catching our flight,' he said casually, aware they had another hour before they were required to return but unable to face that time without another drink. To his relief no one objected.

They left the bench, deciding to walk to the street and see whether they could find a taxi. Hardly had they taken two steps however when a short man in a white shirt and dark blue trousers rushed to intercept them, grabbing Tony by the arm. The first part of his sentence proved incomprehensible to any of them, the second half startling him. '…one hundred dollars.'

Tony removed his hand from his arm forcefully, determined to ignore the extraordinary intruder. The intruder, however, refused to be dismissed so lightly. His fingers closed round Tony's wrist with an iron grip and he repeated his sentence, slower. 'Littering is a serious offence in Sin nap oh,' he began, pointing at the bench. 'One hundred dollars.'

'I wasn't littering,' he protested, his senses dulled by the heat.

'What you call this, then?' the man demanded, picking up the empty pack. 'You leave this here on the bench. That is littering!' He pulled out a notebook and pen and began writing.

'That's not ours,' Tony replied as politely as he was able. 'We don't smoke.'

'You don't deny it,' snapped the man, scribbling furiously. 'I write you up fine. You pay!'

'Look here,' Tony began, outraged.

'Excuse me, sir, but it really wasn't ours,' Michelle said, her charming smile failing to soften their assailant. 'None of us smoke. It was there on the bench when we arrived.'

'Lady, I didn't ask you,' the man snapped, glaring at her. 'I was speaking to that gentleman!' He pulled out a badge, flashing it before Tony's eyes. 'Sin nap oh police,' he snapped, his tone harsh. 'Your ticket. You pay now, here.'

'No, I won't. That was NOT my pack, dammit. You can't just write people up for things, you gotta have evidence,' he protested, wondering whether the man was some escaped lunatic in the guise of a police officer. His irrational behavior indicated a lack of any legal sense. The man glared at him, pulling out a radio. A moment later he was joined by a fellow officer in identical attire. 'You pay now, or you go to court.'

'I don't have time to go to a trial,' he exclaimed, beginning to feel alarmed. 'My plane's leaving in three hours. Here, I'll prove this wasn't mine. I'm a Federal Agent.' He pulled out his own badge.

The two police gave it only a cursory examination. 'Very impressive, Mr. Almeida. Now will you pay your fine, or do we arrest you?'

'He'll pay,' Michelle assured them hurriedly, throwing him a warning look. 'How much was that?'

'A hundred dollar,' replied the policeman with a satisfied smirk, his eyes darting round the park. Just as she opened her purse, frowning in concentration as she counted out the unfamiliar currency his eyes noticed something. 'Hey, you kids, get over here,' he yelled, the shout so unexpected in the sweltering heat that Tony almost jumped. The boys walked over slowly, their faces pale. 'What have you got? Give that to me.' He snatched the packet from a boy's hand and shook him hard. 'Chewing gum! Where did you get that from?'

Tony noticed his mother close her eyes. _Gee, what's the deal with this nutcase? You're dreaming, Almeida, you gotta be! You're gonna wake up on some plane._ He chewed his lip uneasily. Never before in any of his dreams did he feel his t-shirt sticking to his back, or feel sweat trickling under it. Nor did young boys point fingers at him.

'Mr. Almeida,' the second policeman began, dismissing the boys with a cuff and a shake. 'You seem intent on violating all our laws! Chewing gum is BANNED in Sin ah poh.'

Tony shook his head in disbelief. 'What?' he muttered.

'Didn't you read the list at customs? Chewing gum and bubble gum are banned, they are unhygienic. We haven't had it here for years!'

'Excuse me, officer, we weren't aware of that,' Michelle explained mildly, laying a warning hand on his arm. 'Surely we're allowed a certain amount, like with alcohol? This was just one packet.'

They looked at her gravely. 'All incoming foreign nationals are permitted one packet, provided they declare it at customs. Did you declare it, Mr. Almeida?'

Tony shook his head, noting his father moved beside him, his muscles tense. _Oh boy. Better pay whatever fine they name and get Papa back to the airport, before these cops turn nasty._ 'No, I didn't declare it, I never read that list,' he admitted, shaking his head rapidly in his father's direction. 'You're gonna write me up a ticket for that too, right?'

'Oh yes,' replied the second policeman, with an open smile. 'Now you are American, so we'll be lenient this time. You pay only another hundred dollars.'

_Gee, just as well we're friendly with these people! Wonder what they'd do to you if you came from some less admired country?_

Michelle pushed over everything she had, hoping to placate them. They counted the money, dissatisfied. 'You need another eighty dollar,' the first one said. His parents produced another fifty dollars, his mother adding fifty US dollars to the pile as they were out of Singapore dollars. It was accepted after a lot of arguing and they departed warning Tony to behave himself or face the consequences.

They stood in the silent park, shaken. 'Let's go back to the airport,' his mother suggested, her face several shades paler than usual. 'It's almost time to board our plane, anyway.'

_Gee, if mom's looking forward to boarding a plane, she must be really nervous._ He slipped an arm round her. 'It's okay, mom. They're just jerks, trying to look important. I shoulda read the small print.'

* * *

Jack sighed aloud, glaring at the files that refused to remain stacked on top of each other, insisting on sliding to the floor. 'Fine. Stay there,' he snapped, turning to see who walked into his office. 'You wanted something, Chase?'

'Yeah. Mr. Chappelle called again, Jack. He's pretty keen on getting some of those reports. He also wants to speak to you.'

'How can I complete these reports if he keeps interrupting me?' Jack snapped in irritation. 'You know what, Chase. Take some o' these files and complete them! When was Tony supposed to return?'

'Tomorrow,' Chase replied, leaning on his desk. 'There's a small problem, though.' He glanced at his boss, waiting for his reaction.

'Of course there's a problem, Chase,' Jack sighed, leaning his face on an elbow. 'Is the plane delayed?'

'Yeah, for a week.' He held up a hand as Jack nearly leapt from his chair. 'Tony's returning a different way; he'll be here in another two days.'

Jack nodded and opened the top file savagely. 'Another two days! What the hell's taking him so long? Don't we have other flights to Australia?'

Chase shook his head. 'They're all fully booked. Tony's been rerouted through,' he pulled out the printed copy of the email, 'Singapore, Rome, and New York.'

'Rome,' Jack muttered, his lips tight. 'How long's he got to wait there?'

Chase studied the printout. 'Seventeen hours.'

The phone rang again, an external call. Warily he lifted it. 'Bauer.' Chappelle's voice came on the line, demanding to know what was holding up the reports. Jack sighed aloud, a picture of him wringing Tony's neck the only thing that kept his replies civil.

* * *

Changi Airport was more crowded than in the early afternoon. They waited half an hour to claim their boarding passes before they were allowed through passport control and into the international section of the airport, struggling to find their correct departure gate. 'Says D 34,' Michelle said, studying her boarding pass. 'Which way's that?'

'This is B,' Marco said, narrowing his eyes as he read the small signs. 'Gates B1 – B23, that way, B-24 to 34 that way. It's definitely not here.'

They wandered further on, Tony pushing the trolley with the hand luggage, occasionally pushing his father's drawing back into the center of the pile. They passed countless shops and cafés, a host of unusual smells wafting past them. They saw a large pool with an island in the middle, fountains of flowing water and the same birdsong they had heard at the park. Michelle stopped, tilting her head to search the trees in the islands. 'They sound real,' she mused.

'Just a recording, sweetheart,' Tony assured her. 'You don't imagine they got birds inside?'

She shook her head reluctantly, giving the trolley a small push to get it started when a shadow flew across the pool, brushing past their faces. Tony's mouth opened, he closed it rapidly. 'I was right,' she told him smugly. 'They are real. They live here, in the airport terminal!'

_Indoor birds, indoor plants, indoor pools, indoor shops…Glaring security guards all round the rooms…They could've done an episode of star trek right here, some alien planet inside a bio dome…_

'Let's go, Tony,' his father said, interrupting his daydream. 'We don't have much time.'

He nodded, pushing the trolley behind them. _Yeah. Let's go!_


	7. In The Air

'You're telling me to just forget about it!' Tony exclaimed in an incredulous tone, staring at the phone in disgust. 'Mr. Miller, I refuse to be treated as a criminal. Like I said, I had nothin' to do with that carton on the bench. I wanna lodge an official complain, and I'll expect you to deal with it personally! It's your job, right?'

Hudson Miller, a senior diplomat in the US embassy sighed patiently. 'Now Mr. Almeida, I understand your frustration, I really do,' he began in the same placating tone he always used to relax righteously outraged American nationals. 'But my hands are a little tied. You're admitting there WAS a carton on the bench beside you which you ignored. You have to understand that littering is a crime taken very seriously round here. They saw an empty package beside you which you walked away from, they were duty bound to fine you.'

'You're not hearing me, Mr. Miller,' Tony snapped, glaring at the phone. 'IT WASN'T _MINE_! I had NOTHING to do with its presence! I…'

'Mr. Almeida, I'm only explaining your options,' the diplomat replied in a soothing tone which only worked him to a deeper rage. 'Once a crime has been committed, they will find the culprit, or the nearest person, and deal with the matter! Now I can take the matter to court for you, but I need to know a few things. First, did you at any time touch the package?'

Tony paused, cursing himself mentally. 'Yeah,' he admitted reluctantly. 'I pushed it aside when I sat down. It's got my fingerprints on it…'

'Well then, Mr. Almeida, you have no case,' the diplomat informed him, unhelpfully. 'Take my advice and let it go. They treated you surprisingly leniently if you think about it. The normal fine for littering is 1000 dollars, not a 100!'

'Thanks for the advice,' Tony snapped, laying the phone down a lot harder than necessary, working off his frustration on the only piece of local equipment he was able to lay his hands on. _Relax, Almeida, your flight's boarding right over there. Take his advice, catch that plane and get outa here._ He seethed as he carried their things onto the plane and stashed them in the lockers.

Tony turned back, his eyes meeting his mother's as the plane began its take-off run, its engines roaring. Her eyes met his with a calm assurance, her desire to leave the island overcoming her lifelong phobia of flying. They gathered speed, racing after a Thai Airways that rose in a steady arc directly before them. 'It looks real beautiful from up here,' Michelle whispered, her hair brushing his face as the plane dipped a wing, offering them a spectacular view of the city state, every building illuminated in the darkness.

'From up here, yeah,' he whispered back, overcome by a sudden pounding headache fed by exhaustion and hunger. Once they gained altitude and leveled out he unfastened his seatbelt and set off to wash his face, sinking into his seat once he returned with closed eyes. 'Wake me when the food arrives, honey,' he mumbled, half asleep.

Michelle nodded, turning her attention back to the window. 'Tony, could we be flying over Malaysia already?'

'Aha,' he grunted, attempting to find the most optimum position for his head. _At least they put us in business class. Twelve hours squashed at the back would be real hard to take._ His growing headache prevented him from the rest his body craved. _Focus, Almeida. Sure you feel bad right now, but you'll ask for some painkillers when they bring your dinner and you'll be fine. You're on the plane now. You've left all those hostile cops behind._ He slid lower in his seat, turning his face into it.

'Sweetheart, are you ok?' his mother questioned, tapping him lightly on the shoulder. He raised his head reluctantly; aware she was the one person on the planet he was unable to fool.

'It's ok, mom. It's nothin' a coupla painkillers and a dinner won't cure.'

His mother stroked his hair, opened her handbag and withdrew two tablets. 'They can be taken on an empty stomach, sweetheart,' she assured him. He threw her a grateful glance as he reached for them, swallowing them with the remainder of Michelle's orange juice. Once again he burrowed round attempting to locate the most comfortable position, waking to Michelle shaking his shoulder. A trolley was wheeled into the aisle and he sat up, running his fingers through his hair to tidy it before the stewardess reached him. A tray of steaming hot lasagna was set before him, the smell soothing him as he burned his tongue. He devoured the first half, eating the second slower to savor every mouthful, and finally ended up finishing the remainder of Michelle's meal. By the time he finished his second cup of coffee his customary sense of humor returned.

'Had enough, sweetheart?' Michelle asked, stroking his hand with her own.

'Yeah,' he replied, squeezing her fingers. Leaning forward he withdrew the in-flight magazine, opening it to the map and examined the projected flight route with interest. 'We're somewhere over Burma. I flew this way once years before. They got a fantastic coast line, I can tell ya.'

Michelle laughed, shaking her head. 'Aha. And you're regretting that it's too dark to see anything.'

Tony nodded, leaning over her to peer out of the window, disappointed to note pitch blackness beneath him. 'Not a single light,' he muttered, sitting back down. Michelle shrugged, telling him to settle down and watch the movie instead. The first movie was a romantic comedy which was gratefully received by both ladies, while his father moved over to an unoccupied row opposite them and studied his plans. Tony moved across to join him, peering at the drawing. 'Is it done?'

'Sí, I just wanted to make certain it was designed the best possible way,' his father replied and he chewed his lip hard to prevent a grin. Marco Almeida agonized over every one of his designs up until the moment he delivered them to his clients.

'I think it's fine, Papa, and I should know. I spent enough hours tracing designs, right?'

His father nodded. 'Right. Your first job, m'ijo.'

'All that practice came in useful when I done engineering at college,' he remembered, rolling the design up. 'I impressed my professor from day one!' They chatted about a variety of topics, an eye on the movie. He accepted a third coffee against his father's wishes, an eye on Michelle who appeared so engrossed in the comedy, a hand over her mouth to prevent her laughing aloud that she failed to notice. Sipping it hurriedly, he concealed it beside him as she glanced in his direction, smiling at her.

Her eyes narrowed as she stared at him, movie forgotten. A moment later she removed her headphones and crossed the aisle, holding out a hand. 'Pass it over, Tony!'

'Pass what?' he inquired, a puzzled expression on his face.

She ignored him, reaching behind and withdrawing the cup. 'Oh no! Tony, we discussed this before! Caffeine is unhealthy – it thins the bones, strains the heart, and prevents you from getting enough rest. That's the last one you're having on this flight!'

'Sweetheart, we got another ten hours,' he protested, eyeing her hopefully. 'Surely I can get a coffee before we land?'

'You can get one over the Mediterranean, and not before,' she decided, removing his empty cup. Throwing him a meaningful look she left, returning to the movie.

Tony shook his head, folding his arms. 'Next time remind me to take a different flight,' he muttered.

'She loves you very much, Antonio,' his father assured him amused. 'You don't know how fortunate you are. When a woman quotes statistics about health, she loves you.'

He nodded. 'I know. When is this movie over?'

'When that couple gets married,' his father guessed. 'Is there anything on afterwards?'

'Aha. Something about 4 scientists transporting themselves to an alternate universe. Why couldn't they have started with that one?'

'Ladies first,' his father reminded him.

An hour later the second movie began and he returned to his seat beside Michelle, putting his headphones on. She fidgeted beside him for several minutes before removing her headphones and pulling his own off. 'What's up, sweetheart?' he questioned.

'Why show such a boring movie? It's hardly fair; we've got no other choice! That first one was SO good.'

He grinned at her, fondling her curls. 'Get some sleep, sweetheart. You'll want to be alert for Rome,' he advised, placing her head on his shoulder. He wrapped her in a thin blue blanket carefully, kissing her forehead as she snuggled closer against him, a lump in his throat. Movie forgotten, he ran his hands through her hair, gentle rhythmic strokes until he heard her breathing turn quiet. Not wishing to disturb her he left his head on top of hers, aware her preferred sleeping position was with her head tucked snuggly into the crook of his neck. He watched the remainder of the movie from his right eye, his left buried in a mass of curls, falling asleep before the end.

A loud ringing awoke him, the lights all turned on. A stewardess hurried along the aisle, ordering him to place his seat in the upright position and secure all loose items. 'Why?' he mumbled, rubbing his eyes, but she had already departed, waking an elderly man in the back of their compartment. Groaning under his breath he collected their bags and placed them all in the overhead lockers, relieved so few people occupied business class. 'Michelle, sweetheart, you gotta wake up,' he whispered gently, shaking her shoulder. 'You should go use the bathroom now.'

She gave the funny guttural moans typical of her whenever she was woken unexpectedly, blinking in bewilderment at her surroundings. 'Come on, honey,' he urged, pulling her to her feet and leading her to the bathroom. 'Hurry. You might not get another chance for a while.'

The bell rang again. 'Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. Radar indicates we are heading into severe turbulence. Please return to your seats, place them in the upright position and fold all trays. The fasten seatbelt sign is now on.'

_Oh boy. This gotta happen when mom's on a plane! Ironic, almost. You've flown that many times and managed to avoid severe weather, and this first time she's flying with you, you're heading straight into a storm!_

'You nearly done, sweetheart?' he asked lightly, determined not to alarm either woman. Once she came out he hurried his mother in, making certain Michelle was securely strapped in. 'I'll be right back, sweetheart,' he assured her, determined to give his mother a hand as the plane shook slightly. The shaking increased gradually over the next minute before the ground fell away beneath him. Had his fingers not gripped a seat so tightly he would have slammed his head in the ceiling. A shriek reached his ears from the third class and the plane's engines were turned to full power to ride through the turbulence. His mother emerged, white faced. Tony wrapped his arm round her and guided her back to her seat where his father fastened her seatbelt, insisting they were in no danger. His mother disagreed, noting the alarming way the left wing kept tilting upwards. 'He's right, mom. This is a Boeing 747, one of the world's most secure aircraft. It can fly through much worse,' he assured her, reaching behind him to squeeze her hand. 'It can fly through a hurricane quite safely. It's been tested.'

His mother gave him a watery smile. 'An empty plane, yeah. Had anyone test the passengers? Can they survive?'

Tony chuckled gently. 'Sure they can,' he assured her.

Michelle turned back, smiling reassuringly. 'We're in no danger, Rita. Recent studies have shown that motion sickness comes from the eye's perception of motion rather than the actual motion itself. Shut your eyes and pretend you're on the rollercoaster!'

Tony stared at her in admiration. 'She's right, mom. You loved the rollercoaster, remember? We went all the time; I used to ride on your knees.'

His mother groaned faintly. 'That was a while ago, sweetheart,' she sighed.

'Only a coupla years,' Tony told her encouragingly. 'You loved it more than we did, I remember we already had enough and you insisted we all take one more ride, and Jane vomited all over the seat…'

He was rewarded by a watery smile. 'I remember.'

The storm continued, increasing in savagery as they crossed the Bay of Bengal, a stormy place at the best of times. An hour into it the lights went out, the blue emergency lights switching on immediately and the exit signs illuminated. Michelle's grip on his arm tightened. The next second the plane rose again and the lights switched on, only to go out the moment they fell back a few feet. 'You ok, sweetheart?' he asked, brushing a few stray curls from her face. She nodded, white faced. 'Shouldn't last more than another half hour,' he predicted. 'It'll calm down once we reach India.' She nodded and he sighed, unable to decide what sounded worse, the whining engines straining to full capacity or the wind that shrieked above it. Or was it the howls of the terrified young children behind him in third class?

'You know, I'm not convinced those studies on motion sickness were necessarily accurate,' Michelle admitted, her face unusually pale.

Tony sat up, lying her back against her chair. 'Keep your head back and close your eyes, sweetheart,' he advised. An unusually savage gust of wind grabbed the plane, tossing it like a toy - the shrieks from the back intensified and Michelle let out her first groan. 'Hey, honey, it won't be much longer,' he insisted, desperately hoping he was right. Risking a glance behind him he saw his father holding his mother. Their eyes met, his father raised his heavenward. Tony gave an almost imperceptible nod and settled back in his chair, praying for the storm to dissipate once they reached the subcontinent.

The wind's fury abated minimally once they made land, reduced to nothing more alarming that an occasional fall of a few feet. There was a mass exodus to the bathroom lines, Tony insisting they all take advantage of the break. 'Why, sweetheart? The storm's over,' his mother asked bravely.

He managed to smile back at her. 'Sure it is, mom.' _We're heading into more of the same over the Himalayas Almeida, you can already feel it. After all, if it's rough in one place, it'll be rough in the other. It's been a northerly gale…_ He rose; unfastening his seatbelt, taking advantage of what he feared would be less than two hours of relatively calm weather. His weather forecasting was unfortunately accurate.Two hours after they entered Indian air space the wind picked up again and the seatbelt light clicked on. Once again the pilot's voice floated over the speakers, urging them all to return to their seats.

'Oh no, Marco, not again. I really can't do this again,' his mother begged, close to tears. 'I just can't. Why can't we land here, wait it out? Why attempt to cross the Himalayas in such a storm? It can't be safe! Why won't the pilot ask people if they really wanna risk their lives arriving on time, or if they'd prefer to wait a coupla hours?'

'It's his call, mom,' Tony told her, turning backwards to encourage her. 'He's in contact with the control towers; he's got the latest weather forecast. Besides, these mountain storms can last for weeks.'

'Why won't he take us a different way?' she wondered, struggling to keep her tears away.

'He can't, sweetheart,' her husband explained, squeezing her hand, just as reluctant to face another storm. 'Not all places are real friendly round here. Querida, it's only an hour or so over the mountains, then we're in Tajikistan and the storm will dissipate. We'll get through it.'

Tony sank lower into his seat as the plane began its now familiar roll. Outside, the engines revved up to full power again and they began climbing and falling, the lights cutting out as before. 'Reminds me of the time I took my first night parachute jump,' he said softly, twisting his wedding band round his finger. 'The weather was about the same as now, real crap all week, and the jump was cancelled night after night. One day someone decided they'd wait no longer as we were ready to be deployed and had not taken our first jump, so they dressed us up and took us up in a plane. We were all real nervous and our jump instructor didn't exactly show much confidence either. When we reached altitude they opened the door and the first few guys were pushed out. I just stood there, determined to jump by myself till I reached the door and saw nothin' under me except for clouds…Nothin' in my entire life filled me such dread as the order to jump…I really, really didn't wanna do it. Then the guy looked at me. "It's only a few clouds, Almeida. Just water vapor, it can't hurt you. Remember to pick a landing spot once you get through them, you won't have a great deal of time. Wind's pretty strong." He was right. The clouds were ice cold, I nearly froze through my suit, and the wind was so strong it blew me way off my chosen landing spot. In the end I came down on some highway, spraining my ankle and fracturing two fingers…They passed me anyway.'

'Oh sweetheart, that's awful,' his mother exclaimed, temporarily distracted from the full blown storm. 'How could anyone authorize such a jump? You tell me who it was…'

He laughed, noting Michelle looked as outraged as she did, knowing they would rip whichever officer authorized the jump apart between them, especially after his next sentence. Well, rage at the unknown officer would help distract them another few minutes. He took a deep breath and continued with his story. 'No one else landed near me. It was real dark and pouring with rain. I managed to crawl off the highway and unwrap myself from the parachute; I folded it up and sat by the side of the road, waiting to be picked up. My beacon must have got busted for it was never picked up… The rain increased, I was soaked through, my hand hurt like hell…sorry mom, and I would've set off walking if I could've found a stick to lean on, but it was much too dark to notice anything. I was there till dawn, when a local farmer picked me up in his tractor and took me back with him to his farmhouse and I called in my location. They gave me some dry clothes and insisted I eat breakfast while I was waiting. You know, they knew plenty about injuries. They bandaged my ankle and told me it would heal in a while but my fingers needed to be treated.' He smiled at the memory. 'And when the truck finally arrived to collect me the farmer's wife, this nice old lady scolded my captain as though he were a school kid.' His eyes lit up at the memory.

'As she should,' Michelle exclaimed, her face red. 'You could've been seriously injured, Tony, and they just abandoned you. What if you were stuck on some tree?'

He grinned at her, seeing his mother's face pale. 'Or get zapped on some electric wire,' he suggested. 'I was kinda worried about that last one, as I couldn't see anythin' on my way down.'

'That does it,' Michelle exclaimed. 'I might just take a look at some records…'

'Hey, I'm not authorizing that,' he reminded her. 'I'm just telling you it's a lot better to sit INSIDE a plane in a storm than try to jump off!'

The plane changed altitude, climbing higher over the mountain range, the cabin pressure increasing. The pilot explained he had spoken to Pakistani air traffic control and was given permission to climb, to avoid the worst of the storm, and he was aware it was a little uncomfortable for the passengers but to bear with him, it wouldn't last long. It was indeed calmer, though he could tell his mother and Michelle were struggling with headaches and it was a battle for him to walk down the aisle. The stewardesses moved down the aisle once again, handing out drinks. Michelle got two bottles of water, no longer trusting their assurances that the weather was clear for the remainder of the trip.

'Why don't you get some sleep, sweetheart?' he suggested, handing her a little chocolate.

'My head feels as though it will burst,' she complained, rubbing her forehead in a vain attempt to ease the pressure. 'I've just realized something. I'm not prime material for the space program!'

Tony chuckled, drawing her into his arms. 'You're doing great, sweetheart. Lemme tell you something. I don't think they'd pick me, either.' He hugged her, slipping his hand inside her sweater to withdraw her necklace. 'You're wearing it,' he noted, pleased. 'It looks better outside…'

The plane shook under an almighty blow, the explosion deafening them nanoseconds later. The lights went out for the final time, leaving the blue emergency lights pointing the way to the exit they were unable to use, an icy wind ripping through the cabin. His father's drawing sailed away before he could reach for it. A stewardess flew behind it, eyes wide with fear. Tony reached out and grabbed her leg, refusing to release it despite his arms straining against their sockets. Michelle slipped his oxygen mask over his face, enabling him to breathe and take note of his family, all of whom appeared safe in their seats. Using the remainder of his strength he pulled the stewardess towards him, pushing her into the seat before them and holding her until she secured herself. Smoke filled the cabin, the plane shook like a broken toy and they began their final descent.


	8. A Question Of Nationality

'Honey, listen carefully,' Tony instructed, removing the mask from his face and grabbing her elbow to yell into her ear. 'I want you to stay here till this plane comes to a complete stop, then you're to get out through that door right up there. Don't take anythin', just run.'

'Where are you going?' she demanded, clutching his hand.

'I'm gonna go see if there's somethin' I can do to help,' he explained, squeezing her hand encouragingly. 'I've been trained as an engineer, sweetheart.'

'What happened?' she asked as he unfastened his seatbelt, grabbing the back of the seat in front.

'I'm guessin' we were hit by some missile,' he replied, confirming her suspicions. 'There was an impact before the explosion. Sit tight.' Throwing her a final smile he climbed out of the row, working his way to the front of the plane. Twice the powerful suction nearly claimed him as he released a seat to reach for the next one in what appeared to be a never ending chain. Mayhem met him once he succeeded in pushing the cockpit door open.

'Mayday mayday, this is Alitalia flight 3993, do you read us?' the copilot repeated, while the pilot struggled with the controls. The dials spun around, two red lights flashing while the numerous warning beeps nearly succeeded in drowning out the wind's shriek. The plane shook as it entered the full brunt of the storm, sinking fast.

'Tony Almeida, Counter Terrorist Unit,' he introduced himself. 'What can I do to help?'

'You got an engineering degree?' snapped the pilot.

'Aha,' he replied.

The pilot spared him a second glance. 'Fine. I have no idea of the exact nature of the damage we suffered, but it's extensive. We're sinking. I'm gonna attempt a landing, but I can't locate the undercarriage. It might be there, it might not. We'd do a lot better with the wheels.'

'You want me to release it manually?' Tony guessed.

'Yes. There's a crank. Just turn it. It won't be easy.'

'If we still got the undercarriage, I'll get it down,' he promised, leaving the cockpit to struggle over to a door, entering a lift that mercifully worked, depositing him to the unprotected lower deck. A gust of wind blew him halfway across the deck, sheer desperation enabling his fingers to grasp a lever and hang onto it for dear life. _Focus, Almeida. You gotta get to that crank. Look round and find something you can secure yourself to, and do so immediately. We're definitely going down fast._ His eyes roamed over the area, pausing upon a net, which he ripped from the wall and secured round his waist, crawling forward till he reached the crank. The pilot was right – it took all his strength to turn it. Fighting dizziness in the rapidly changing pressure he turned the crank, refusing to succumb to despair. Despite lacking the available statistics, he was aware their chances of survival were low. Thoughts of Michelle and his parents kept his arm straining against the crank long after he would normally have given up. Guilt at his family's presence tore away at him as he was rewarded by the mechanism lowering. Once the crank would turn no further he pulled himself back to the wall and called the cockpit on a internal phone, determined to do all he could to aid a safe descent.

'You done well,' the pilot told him. 'It would increase our chances if we could get rid of more of our fuel. The starboard fuel tank refused to respond…'

'I'm onto it,' he replied, working his way to the controls of the tank, opening them. Unsure whether his actions had any effect he tightened the net to his waist and crawled forward to the large hole gaping in the back of the plane and peered out, noting two steady streaks of fuel leaking to the ground. _You done it, Almeida. Now you better pray none of that gets in the engines…_ He worked his way back into the dubious safety of the aircraft straining his aching muscles, reaching the shelter of the lift shaft seconds before a bone jarring impact. The plane shook violently, his body slammed against the ladder, his head impacting with a sickening crack. His fingers relaxed their grip on the rungs and he fell to the floor, unconscious.

* * *

Marco Almeida unfastened his seatbelt and rose to his feet before the plane reached a complete halt, pulling his wife behind him. Noting his daughter-in-law's dazed expression he reached for her, shaking her shoulder. 'Michelle, are you hurt?' he questioned, unfastening her belt. 'We gotta get out of here!'

Michelle nodded, forcing herself to focus through the waves of pain emanating from her leg. Pushing the front seat off her knee she attempted to rise, collapsing back onto her seat in tears. 'I…'

Marco bent down and lifted her into his arms, muttering soothing words in Spanish as he followed his wife to the exit their stewardess was forcing open. He made certain she was the first one down the chute, putting Michelle behind her. A nagging worry made him turn aside, slipping past the remaining passengers to their bags, he collected their passports and Tony's laptop. The year he spent in the Mexican army, albeit involuntarily, had taught him a thing or two about explosions, and the fact that the impact preceded it wasn't lost on him. The people who were responsible for firing on their aircraft were likely to show up in the near future, and as it was stretching the realms of possibility to imagine one of the official governments of the countries they flew over had been responsible, it was safe to assume they were surrounded by hostiles. Hostiles in that part of the world tended to have one thing in common, a hatred of the US, a hatred that worried him as he returned to the chute to join his wife and Michelle. 'Where's Tony?' he demanded, dismayed to see them shake their heads.

'I haven't seen him,' his wife replied, tears in her eyes. 'Marco, you don't think…'

'No, of course not,' he cried, shaking his head. 'How's Michelle?'

'I'm fine,' she replied, wiping the tears that refused to stop flowing. 'Where's Tony?'

'I'll go find him. How's your leg?' He knelt down swiftly, expertly feeling the bone. 'Michelle, that's broken. Wait a moment.' He searched through the chaotic milling of dazed passengers, the cacophony of languages reminding him of his mother's reading about the confusion of languages at the Tower of Babel. Seizing a thin piece of jagged metal he returned with it, handing it to her. 'Don't attempt to walk on that leg. Lean on that. I want the two of you to start moving due north, that way,' he explained, 'right over to those hills and to remain there till we join you. Go now.'

Rita Almeida cast him an alarmed look. 'Without Tony? Marco, you don't think…' she began, her voice trailing off as she noted the fear in his face.

'They're coming, alright. Take this. Bury it once you're outa sight.' He handed her the laptop. 'I'm going to find Tony.'

They set off, Michelle leaning on her makeshift walking stick as she attempted to hurry, his wife carrying the laptop under her arm. Chewing his lip he returned to the irreparably damaged plane, searching the passengers in desperation without a sight of his son. 'Tony,' he called, examining the row of injured laid out a few yards from the plane under the direction of the captain. 'TONY. TONY!' His voice carried over the wailing of the injured but no one spared him a glance, preoccupied with their own misery. Praying for divine assistance he returned to the chute, climbing upwards with difficulty. The cabin was deserted, twisted wreckage of unbolted seats and one section of dropped overhead locker almost blocking his path towards the cockpit.

'Mayday mayday, this is Alitalia flight 3993. Do you read me?' the copilot droned.

Marco paused in the doorway, frowning. 'They're not responding are they?' he questioned, seeing a defeated shake of the head from the junior pilot. 'Did we make Tajikistan?' he questioned hopefully.

'No sir, we're in northern Pakistan, somewhere,' the man explained hopelessly. 'We're slightly off course due to the storm. Only slightly, sir. Rescue teams should find us quite soon. Our beacon is working.'

Marco nodded. 'Look, we were hit by some missile. Don't you think you should get the people moving, hide them till the rescue arrives?' he suggested.

'Mamma mia,' the copilot cried, wringing his hands. 'You're right, we're wasting time.' He rose, preparing to rush from the plane, delayed by Marco's grip on his arm.

'Wait a minute. My son came in to help you. Where did you send him?'

The pilot gave him directions to the shaft and he worked his way over to it, halted by the broken door that refused to budge from the inside, leaving him no possibility of squeezing past. He was forced to return to the chute and slide out, working his way round the wreckage to attempt to find a hole large enough to crawl into. Just as he noticed the gaping hole left by the missile he was surrounded and slammed into the plane.

'Kneel down. Hands on your heads. Anyone moves, I'll shoot,' yelled a turbaned man, his untrimmed beard waving in the wind. The babble ceased, the passengers gaping in terror as the speaker was surrounded by dozens of heavily armed men. 'Are you people stupid? Kneel down, or I'll shoot.' He raised his rifle, firing a burst into the air. It had the desired effect of halting the disorganized group. Everyone knelt where they stood, begging for mercy in a variety of languages. 'Shut up,' yelled the leader, waving his rifle in the direction of the hills. He snapped an order to a similarly attired man who set off in the direction Michelle and Rita had just taken, followed by six men.

'Alright, I want one line here, in front of me. You'll join the line when I point to you. Let's move!'

To his dismay the man pointed at him first, throwing him a no nonsense expression. Marco moved over to where the man indicated he should kneel, a rifle trained on him. 'Hands on your head,' snapped the leader, turning to indicate another passenger should join him. 'One movement, you're shot,' he snapped, turning momentarily to stare at Marco, reading some challenge from his expression. 'Where are you from, asshole?' he snapped, his American accent contrasting sharply with his attire.

'Mexico,' Marco replied, seething, his mind on the conference Tony had attended. It appeared he had a living, breathing example of his speech holding them all captive! Worry for Tony's well being gnawed at him. 'My son is inside, he's hurt…' He rose, receiving a tremendous blow to his back.

'I won't warn you again, Mexican,' the turbaned man snapped, kicking him in the ribs. 'We got enough people here to ignore the wounded.' He turned down the line, snapping at several of the more defiant men.

* * *

Michelle paused, pulling Rita to a halt. 'Did you hear something?' she whispered, sure she had heard a movement over the howling wind.

'No, but that doesn't mean much, in this storm. That laptop contains classified information, right?' Michelle nodded, her eyes searching the terrain. 'We should bury it now.'

'You're right,' she agreed, sitting down with difficulty, moaning aloud at the pain in her leg. Tony's mother took her makeshift walking stick and dug into the rock hard soil, shaking her head at the slow progress.

'It feels as though this place was compacted,' she grumbled, removing chunks of rock the size of her fist. She worked fast while Michelle scanned the surroundings, uneasy in the silence. Rita glanced at her before she continued her digging, her fingers rubbed raw. They slid the laptop on top of some rocks that refused to be moved beside a half gnawed bush, returning the soil seconds before a bolt was pulled back and five men surrounded them.

Michelle knew for a fact that she had never heard any of the languages they spoke, but the rifle waved towards the plane left her in no doubt as to their instructions. Rita pulled her to her feet and handed her the chunk of metal to lean on, neither of them daring to glance at their hastily reburied hole. Apparently the men mistook them for two females determined to walk home rather than board another plane in their lives and herded them unsuspectingly back towards the group. It took all her training not to show dismay at the sight that greeted them. All uninjured passengers knelt in a single row before a group of turbaned men, hands on their heads.

Their eyes scanned the group, noting Tony's absence with sinking hearts as they were marched over to the leader. He glared at them, turning to Michelle. 'Why did you run? You're not waiting for a helicopter rescue?'

'You gotta be kidding!' she exclaimed, playing the frightened passenger card for all she was worth. 'You think I wanna get in a helicopter after this? We're gonna catch a train.'

'There aren't any trains round here,' the man replied, waving a rifle towards the queue. 'Join the rest. Now then,' he snapped, as they hurried to kneel beside Marco, 'I want to see your passports, see who you are. I'm gonna allow you to return to the plane to collect them in two's with my men beside you. Anyone trying anything will get shot, and die slowly. Move it.'

* * *

Tony stirred in the dark, his head pounding, his neck wrapped dangerously round the ladder. Multicolored stars graced the broken interior of the plane, forcing him to squeeze his eyes shut. Oil dripped on his hair running down the inside of his t-shirt. Judging by the wet patch he felt, he had been there quite some time. _Focus, Almeida. The plane obviously landed. Michelle. Oh God, where's Michelle? She would've come to find you, were she able to._ Thoughts of her hurt or stuck in wreckage got him moving. He withdrew his head, groaning at the pain, and knelt in the pool of oil, resting momentarily. Faint sounds reached his ears, not the hysterical wailing of dismayed passengers he would have expected but harsh orders and silence. _What the hell's going on out there? That's not the pilot, or any rescue. _Chewing his lip he crawled along the shattered deck, circling twisted piles of wreckage until he reached a hole torn near the fuel tank. Straining his eyes he peered outside, shocked into silence.

A turbaned man appeared to hold the passengers at gunpoint, opening what appeared to be passports. He examined a red one, shook his head and moved along to the next passenger, a golden haired woman dressed in a pale blue sweater. Her passport attracted longer scrutiny. He said something Tony was unable to hear and moved a few feet back, raising his rifle. _No, don't do it!_ His single shot blew her brains backwards, spattering them on the plane. Tony pressed a hand over his mouth, his stomach heaving.

'Are there any more Americans?' demanded the man, glaring at the row of horrified passengers. No one uttered a sound. 'Alright, have it your way. I'm checking everyone.'

_On your feet, Almeida. You gotta find some passports, any passports, and immediately._ Tony climbed the ladder, ignoring the world spinning round him and forced the door open a few more inches, squeezing into a battered cabin. He found the dead at the back of the plane near the hole, just where he had expected them to be, several of them strapped into their seats crushed beneath the weight of overheard compartments and other seats. Forcing his emotions aside he rifled through handbags and pockets, selecting a handful of undamaged ones. _Hurry, Almeida. They're approaching mom and Michelle. _He moved to the chute, approaching the queue with raised hands.

* * *

'Rita, have you got your passport?' Marco demanded, his whisper harsh in the silence. She nodded wordless, her fingers wrapped round his. He dug his fingers into her pocket and took it, opening it to the page that contained her photo.

'What are you doing?' she managed to whisper.

'Querida, I want you to know that meeting you at college was the best thing that ever happened to me,' he told her, opening his own passport. 'From that first day when you made that guy move, when you said it's your seat and sat next to me, my world changed. I left my family, my country, everything I ever loved and cared about just to be with you, and I want you to know I'd do it all again.'

'Marco,' she began, terrified as he found his own picture.

'They're in a hurry, sweetheart, they haven't got time to hang around. They won't notice the name and sex,' he muttered, sliding his pen knife under the picture.

'No, I won't let you,' she gasped. 'Marco, they're not mad at you, they're mad at us. You can't…'

'You're my responsibility, Rita,' he reminded her.

'No. I can't take that. Give it to Michelle. She's so young…'

Marco Almeida chewed his lip, gazing at his daughter-in-law who stood ashen faced beside his wife, his heart divided. 'We'll go together,' his wife whispered to him, a hand on his arm. Just like we always do.'

* * *

'Stop' ordered a voice and Tony paused, his hands raised above his head, his pockets bulging with passports. An icy wind whipped the dust from the rocks into his eyes, his head pounded and he fought to ignore the sickening spin of his surroundings as he awaited the arrival of the leader. 'Why the hell are you not in the queue?'

'I just climbed out,' he explained in heavily accented English, nodding his head at the back of the plane.

His answer appeared to satisfy the man. 'Get into the queue,' he snapped, shoving him over to his father. 'Don't move.' He left them abruptly, continuing his search of the passengers.

'Papa, don't do it. I got a coupla passports,' he whispered, blinking back tears at the sight of the open documents. 'Here.' He handed over a New Zealand passport and two Italian ones.

'Tony, those people…'

'They're dead,' he hissed. 'Hurry up, Papa.'

His father nodded, removing the pictures and sliding their own over the gaps while he attempted to shield him from direct view of their captors. A tiny piece of chewing gum stuck them in, certainly not well enough to pass any kind of official scrutiny, but enough to pass muster by the men. Tony thanked God his father never failed to take gum or chocolates with him, almost as though he sensed he might need it.

'Are there any other Americans?' he asked, watching his father anxiously.

'I think so,' his mother whispered, clasping his hand as though to make certain he was indeed unharmed. 'That woman with the baby looks like she's going to run…'

He nodded. 'Tell Michelle to get her passport,' he instructed, patting his pocket. 'I got another two.'

Eyes blazing with rage, Tony watched the men move further down the row, praying there were no more Americans his family had overlooked, aware their omission would mean an instant death sentence. He breathed a sigh of relief as they approached the end of the row, glancing at the passport his father had fixed for their fellow Americans.

'Germany, ah,' the man questioned, collecting the passports without a second glance, nodding in satisfaction. 'Good. We have quite an interesting group today!'

Trembling slightly, Michelle handed over her New Zealand passport, praying the gum would hold and the man would not question her obvious lack of that accent. The passport was collected with a nod of approval and the man moved over to his mother, taking her borrowed passport with a frown. 'Another Italian,' he muttered, showing more interest in his father's documents. 'Mexico. Well well. And you have a Green Card, you work in the States.'

'I work in the States for money, my family lives at home in MEXICO,' Marco insisted, his eyes showing no fear as the man studied him. His passport was removed without further comment and the man turned to Tony.

'Passport.'

Tony handed over his passport with the slightest trace of fear on his face, aware a bold expression would raise the man's suspicions.

'More spaghetti,' the man remarked, accepting it without further comment. 'Now then, we're going to be going on a short walk. We don't have paved sidewalks as you decadent westerners have, so we're not bothering with the wounded. Anyone unable to keep up is staying behind.' He moved over to the wounded, removing his rifle.

'Wait,' Tony snapped, his order instantaneous. 'You can't mean that. Let's see,' he left the queue, hands raised, removing a passport from the hands of a terrified woman. 'She's Canadian. You haven't got a Canadian yet. Why leave her, when you can get another country to listen to your cause? You got a Singaporean, and,' he paused, his heart aching as he crouched beside a severely bruised child, 'a Finn. You don't have any quarrel with these countries, yet! You don't wanna annoy three extra countries needlessly. Your best move would be to organize us to carry these people right now.'

'You talk too much,' the leader snapped, glaring at him. 'Alright, pick one person.' He waited while Tony gathered the child in his arms, watching four young men selected to carry the injured women. 'Let's go. My men have their guns trained on you. Move one foot off the track, you'll be shot.' The last remark was addressed to Tony who swayed under the weight of the child. They formed a queue, Tony with his mother beside him, struggling under the weight of the child, his father directly behind, helping Michelle, the remainder of the passengers behind them. 'Alright, we move. Say goodbye to your plane.' The leader paused, grabbing the pilot. 'We're aware rescue will arrive soon. You can deliver a note to them, a note to the western world. This is our land, our sky. We don't want you here - you or your planes.' He aimed his rifle, blowing the pilot's brains away, before he placed a typewritten letter in his hand. 'Put him in the cockpit, in the pilot chair,' he ordered harshly, waving his rifle at the queue. 'Let's go, people.'


	9. A Nightmare Journey

Jack woke on the third ring, groping for his phone in the dark determined not to wake Kim who slept across the hall, inadvertently knocking it to the ground. Swearing under his breath he turned the lamp on, grabbing it. 'Bauer,' he snapped, noting the CTU number. Something was up yet again, something vital or he would not have been woken this late. Pulling his undershirt over his head he listened to a junior analyst's voice on the line, choking with nervousness at bothering his boss in the middle of the night. Buttoning his shirt he glared at the phone as though it were personally responsible for the dismal tidings. 'What do you mean you don't know?' he snapped, lack of knowledge irritating him beyond anything else. 'Why did that plane crash? Didn't they send an SOS? Was Tony on it?'

'Sir, they did send an SOS, but it was garbled. The plane was obviously damaged, and part of the message could have been lost in the storm. I'm afraid Tony Almeida and Michelle Dessler were both on the passenger manifest.'

Jack slipped into his jeans, his mind racing. 'And no terrorist group has contacted us yet?'

'No sir.'

'Keep scanning for any indication of a message. Scan Italian government sites as well, it was their plane. Have the rescue crew located the plane?'

'No sir,' the analyst said uneasily. 'The storm's too bad to send choppers yet. They're set to go the moment the weather clears.'

'Dammit! What the hell are those people thinking about? If anyone survived that crash they'll need medical attention now, not next week. Who's responsible for search and rescue?'

'The Pakistani government, sir. The plane went down in their country.'

Jack nodded, leaving the silent house. A dozen questions swirled through his brain as he drove to CTU. Why had the plane dropped out of the sky after sending an incomprehensible SOS? Could the storm have caused damage? He doubted it, aware the plane was constructed to fly through far worse weather than the doomed aircraft had crossed. Was it shot down? If so, why was there no gloating message? Did anyone survive the crash? More importantly, did Tony survive the crash? He found himself blinking as he pulled into the deserted car park, racing for the door. Should he contact the Pakistani ambassador and inform him of Tony's presence on the flight? He paused uneasily, deciding against it until he was aware of more facts.

'Passenger manifest,' he snapped at the analyst as he entered the building, climbing the stairs to his office two at a time. It appeared on his desk minutes later, the analyst hovering nearby. Jack seized it, scanning the names of his colleagues. _Michelle Dessler, dammit, Tony Almeida.. ._He frowned in concentration, seeing two names below his friend's. 'Who the hell are Marco and Rita Almeida? Tell me they're not some kind of relatives?' he snapped at the junior.

The man reddened under his scrutiny. 'Sir, they're his parents. I already checked,' he admitted, anticipating the next question. 'I haven't had time to search their itinerary. Shall I call someone?'

'No, I'll do it. Let me know the moment you pick anything up,' Jack insisted, gazing at the names. 'And call Adam in, I want him checking the rest of the passengers. I want to know who they are, where they're from, what they do, what their hobbies are, everything!' He glared at the retreating analyst, shaking his head. _Why the hell did you take your parents with you, Tony? Was it a family holiday? Did they go to Australia to keep Michelle company?_ The sleepy official at the Australian embassy confirmed their entry date as matching Tony and Michelle's, giving him concise details of their entire holiday, down to the hotels they stayed at. Jack's heart ached as he listened, taping the conversation for further analysis, aware how close Tony was to his parents. It had been a running joke at CTU before Michelle had moved in with Tony, whether he would last a weekend without visiting his parents. He never had.

'_We'll catch up later, Jack.'_ He shuddered, Tony's voice echoing from the building. Jack got up and stared into the bullpen, relieved to note Adam had arrived and appeared engrossed in his search. He almost dreaded the morning when Chappelle would be informed of the disaster. Tony's office was dark as he stared at it, his eyes moistening. _Dammit Tony. You had to pick the one flight that went down this entire month! You think you can just leave all this paperwork…_He wiped a hand across his cheek in fury and turned back to his desk, determined to hurry the search and rescue teams along.

His first piece of information came from a contact at the Russian embassy, informing him that the plane had indeed been shot out of the sky by a GAM, each moment picked up by one of their military satellites. The plane had apparently made a precarious landing, coming to a halt on some plain. Their pictures were a little hazy, they were being enhanced as they spoke and he would let Jack see them the moment they were done. Jack thanked him, calling the US base in Uzbekistan to demand aid for his stranded friends.

The commander he spoke to was less than amused at the call. 'Mr. Bauer, like I told you, my fighters are not authorized to fly into Pakistani airspace,' he repeated in obvious irritation. 'Yes we could be there in an hour or so, but no, we're not going in. It's completely outta the question! It's not even our plane. Let the Pakistanis search for it, or the Italians.'

'Dammit, Commander, would you just listen?' Jack begged. 'You're the closest group who can actually do anything to help those people. I'll even give you a reason to do so. Satellite shows most of those people made it outta that plane. If those terrorists got hold of my colleague, they could lay their hands on all kinds of classified data. You could send your fighters and choppers in now and pick him up…'

'Mr. Bauer, this is the US Air Force you're discussing. We can't just "go in and pick" people up! If your colleague is indeed alive, it's an intelligence matter, not a military one.' He laid the receiver down with a snap, leaving Jack to pound on his desk in sheer frustration. A sudden idea hit him. He called the White House, leaving a message for the president to contact him as soon as he was able to do so. If anyone could order that arrogant commander to send some rescue helicopters, it was him. Unable to think of anything further to assist his friend he settled at his desk, sipping a third coffee.

* * *

Internal body clock completely disrupted by all the flying he had done in the last nine days, Tony wasn't sure whether it was breakfast, lunch or dinner that he missed, only that he had missed something. Hunger gnawed at him, twisting his stomach into painful knots as he trudged along the narrow mountain trail, barely more than a goat track in places. He had long since given the child to another man and returned to Michelle, supporting her along the slippery terrain. Her leg was badly swollen and she was unable to put any weight on it, forcing her to hop on one leg with her arms wrapped about him for support. His eyes rested on Ali, the leader of the group, willing him to call a temporary halt and hand out supplies, but the man ignored him, urging them forward. Annoyed, he slowed his steps, his actions causing the entire group to slacken their pace.

'What the hell's wrong with you, spaghetti?' demanded Ali, the only one of the group who spoke English. 'Get it moving.'

'You gonna give us some water?' Tony demanded, risking a glance at him. Ali's eyes bore into his own, the flicker warning him to steel himself seconds before he raised his hand, the blow almost knocking him off the path. Tony rubbed his left eye, hoping it hadn't suffered permanent damage.

'You will get water when you arrive. You will get a bullet in the brain if you don't arrive,' Ali snapped, turning to regard his father. 'What's your problem, Mexican? You got something to add to this discussion?'

Marco Almeida shook his head with difficulty. 'No,' he said softly.

'I should hope not,' Ali exclaimed, giving him a hard look. 'And you lack manners, Sombrero! You say "no sir".'

'No sir,' Marco forced out, his teeth clenched.

'That's better. If you'd all pick up the pace we'd arrive sooner. You might even find some fish and chips,' he cried, leaning into an elderly English couple who drew back in revulsion. 'Or sauerkraut,' he laughed, staring at the American woman and baby who had borrowed the German passport. 'Or,' he paused, eyeing Michelle dubiously. 'What the hell is New Zealand's national dish?'

Michelle's heart skipped a beat before she bravely raised her head. 'We eat mainly English food…' _Oh God, why did he have to ask ME that?_

'Kiwi fruit,' Ali decided, laughing to himself. 'That's it,' he beamed, moving further down the line, yelling at the mainly Italian group, the words pizza, spaghetti Bolognese and lasagna reaching Tony's ears, causing his stomach to rumble louder. He attempted to ignore the words, focusing on the winding path, half guiding half carrying Michelle. _Great, a well traveled fanatic! You're gonna have to work hard to keep your mouth shut, Almeida, real hard. The safety of your entire family depends on it, on your remaining anonymous and you managed to attract attention twice so far! Nice going! And the bastard's definitely American!_

'You okay?' he questioned, risking a glance at her ashen face.

She nodded bravely. 'Yeah. I should ask you that, Tony? How's your face?'

'Fine,' he replied, noting her face darken. 'It's numb, sweetheart. It's not gonna hurt for a while.'

She nodded her acceptance of his condition, squeezing his fingers. 'How much further you think we're going?'

He shook his head, unable to estimate their remaining travel time as he was woefully ignorant of the surrounding geography. 'No idea, honey. But look at it this way, they got old people and kids and we're heading up that mountain range, so I'm guessing it's not much further. Want me to carry you a bit?'

She stared at him unhappily, unwilling to burden him but barely able to hobble along due to a blister on her uninjured foot. Tony sank down, swinging her into his arms. 'We're gonna be fine, sweetheart. Trust me on this.'

'You really think so?' she asked miserably. 'I mean, we're in, I don't even know where exactly, there's not a single road in sight, we're heading into high mountains, it's getting colder and we're kidnapped by Muslim militants. If they ever find out…'

'Listen carefully, Michelle,' he interrupted, his tone serious. 'They're not gonna find out, okay. I'm gonna dump our real passports first chance I get. As long as they don't suspect anything, we're okay for the time being, until I figure out a way for us to get outta here.' He stared at her confidently, willing her to trust him. 'Michelle, we survived an air crash. We're gonna survive this, too.'

She listened to him spellbound, pain throbbing through her leg. His voice had a spellbinding quality that never failed to reassure her no matter what disaster they were facing, a voice that allayed her concerns night after night. Her hands tightened round his neck. 'I love you, Tony.'

'Me too. Wanna hear a confession, sweetheart? When I said mountains looked real beautiful, I was just talking. I'm beginning to change my mind,' he whispered, rewarded by her first watery smile.

The path they followed wound treacherously through the mountains, climbing steeply. They began to struggle, dislodging hundreds of loose pebbles with their shoes as they climbed, slipping and sliding and sending showers of stones to burden the people behind them. Were he not carrying Michelle Tony would have volunteered to go last. As it was he struggled uphill, unable to wipe the sweat that again trickled down his forehead in the icy wind. An hour into the climb he stopped wearily, sinking onto the ground, his example followed by the rest of the group.

'Hey spaghetti,' yelled an indignant Ali, emerging from behind him. 'What the hell's your problem? Not into mountain climbing, are we? Get on your feet,' he threatened, waving the rifle at him.

'Look, Ali, you gotta give us five minutes,' Tony insisted, beyond caring about receiving a further blow. 'I gotta go somewhere for a minute. I'll be behind that bush!' He set off without risking a backward glance, crouching behind a scraggly bush, his fingers digging the rock hard soil in desperation. Once he had succeeded in digging a shallow incline, he buried their American passports, covering them with loose stones and the remainder of the soil he had shoveled out. Taking a deep breath he returned to the group, throwing Michelle a reassuring look. Ali glared at him with a thunderous expression, waving his rifle at the exhausted group.

The final part of the trip was torturous, haunting Tony's sleep for years to come. The path turned sharply uphill, necessitating them to crawl along in some places to avoid falling backwards. Once they rounded a sharp bend they were directed over the bare hill face at an alarming rate, grabbing each other to prevent themselves rolling to the bottom of a dark crevice. His admiration for his mother increased with each step she took, noting her and Michelle's stoic acceptance of their fate without complaint. _This is all your fault, Almeida. You should NEVER have allowed anyone to talk you into taking Michelle so far away for a holiday. Look what you got her into this time. And there's mom! She's not that young anymore and she's never been near mountains. It's not as though anyone's gonna come rescue you, so they've all gotta make this climb back again someday…We don't, after all, negotiate with terrorists…Keep an eye on the path, remember how you got here._

The scenery left him with little encouragement. The mountains were bare from overgrazing, tufts of grass breaking an otherwise brown landscape. The entire terrain lacked trees, houses, or even a noticeable path. He fought against despair as they continued their journey, yelled at by their captors who took fiendish delight in their misery.

The storm continued unabated, lashing them with the largest raindrops he had ever encountered, soaking him to the skin. Ali halted them during a particularly savage squall and they sank down where they stood. Tony turned back, slipping his right arm round his mother, holding Michelle tight in his left, attempting to shield her from the brunt of the wind. 'You ok, mom?' he whispered, willing her to say yes.

'I'm holding up, sweetheart,' she assured him. 'Tony, listen to me. If ever they discover who you are…'

'They won't mom. And you don't need to worry, I'm not gonna give them any kinda information.'

'I know that,' she told him unhappily. 'You've been through something like this before honey; I know how tough you are. I just wanted to tell you that if they threaten us, your father or me for information, don't think of telling them anything. Do you understand, sweetheart?'

He nodded, discovering another unknown quality to her character, intense courage. 'Mom, I've been thinking.' He stared at her, reveling in her hug. 'You and Papa got to pretend you're strangers to me. You're just another Italian passenger.' He saw her frown and laid a finger on her face, stroking her cheek. 'It's gotta be this way till we get outta here, coz if they ever do discover who I am, I won't have you face the consequences. You understand, mom?'

His mother nodded reluctantly, hating the thought of treating him as a stranger. 'Only until we get out,' she agreed. 'Tony, how soon do you think they'll come for us?' She noticed a flicker in his eyes and took his hand. 'I want the truth, sweetheart.'

He nodded, aware she deserved it. 'You got it. There's no way choppers are gonna fly in such terrain in this kinda weather. I haven't got much experience with mountains, but from what I heard, a storm here can last weeks…' He fell silent, hating to dash her hopes. 'By the time it's over, they'll find nothing more than the plane.'

'But honey, they'll come search for us, won't they?' she pleaded.

He shook his head. 'I doubt it. This part of the country is the border region, lacking all infrastructure. It's ungovernable, mom. No one controls this place. The Pakistanis won't send in a rescue team because they'd be mowed down the moment they arrived.'

'So we're on our own,' she guessed.

'Yeah,' he agreed softly, an eye on the returning terrorists. 'But don't worry, I'll get us outta here. I've been trained to do so,' he assured her, breaking away abruptly. 'They're coming.'

His mother sat up, twirling a blade of grass in her fingers. Michelle's head remained buried in his lap, totally succumbed to pain and exhaustion. He stroked it gently, avoiding Ali's gaze. Their captors appeared to enjoy the rest, though in his estimation they could have continued all day without a break were the situation more pressing. They surrounded their captives, weapons trained on them, ever vigilant. Escaping from them would prove challenging. Soaked as he was he ignored the wet ground as he stretched out, shutting his eyes. His mother settled into his father's arms, resting her head against his shoulder. They spoke to each softly obviously wishing to give him a few minutes undisturbed rest.

'What are you thinking about, querida?' Marco whispered, stroking her face.

'Tony. He was so cute when he was a baby - seems like yesterday. He's still so young, Marco, too young to die…'

'No one's gonna die, querida,' he insisted firmly. Pulling her closer he grinned at her through the rain. 'He _was_ cute, I remember. So tiny…'

She settled more comfortably against him, relaxing slightly as she relived the moment. 'You brought him to me, remember, Marco. You said I should feed him like the horses fed their colts.'

Marco chuckled, turning crimson. 'I'm sorry, sweetheart. That was inexcusably rude. I meant that I didn't like the look of that formula they prepared for him.'

Rita nodded. 'I realized what you meant after I slapped you. And you called mom.' She fell silent and he sighed, stroking her hair. Tony listened breathless, aware there was something that remained unspoken between them. 'Dammit, Marco, why wouldn't she just come and see him. He was just a baby, he was innocent.'

'You know her,' he replied, hugging her tightly. They sat together refusing to clarify the point, rain pouring over them. Unable to wait any longer Tony stirred.

'What was I innocent of?' he asked casually, leaning towards them without moving Michelle. They stared at him startled, eyes avoiding his. 'Dammit, Papa, I want an answer. I heard something when I was a kid - Abuela said I ruined mom's life. I wanna know why!'

The silence stretched, as he waited in increasing impatience determined to receive an answer. 'Why don't you tell him, Marco?' Rita said eventually. 'He's old enough.'

Tony watched his father's awkward face bewildered. _It's gonna be bad, Almeida. Something happened that drove Abuela wild. Not that that's unusual in itself, she's always displeased about something…_He felt sorry for his mother for being raised by such a harsh parent.

'We had another year of college. We'd known each almost three years…We were best friends and I intended to ask your mother to marry me once we graduated and I found work.'

'But?' Tony pressed.

'Just before the end of term we went camping, just the two of us. Your mom found this deserted spot near Lake Michigan. We set up our tents, made our campfire and talked…'

Tony leaned on an elbow, brow furrowed. 'You made me there, right?'

Eyes on the ground, Marco sighed. 'We did.'

Tony grinned, his face wet with rain. 'And you think I'm gonna condemn you guys. I've known for a long time.'

They gasped, staring at him wordless.

'I had plenty of spare time during the evening shift when I first started at CTU. I mean, it didn't take much figuring. Babies take nine months, not five!' He rubbed his face, watching them. 'Guess I kinda came at an inconvenient time.'

'No, sweetheart. A year later would've been perfect, but we managed anyway. And you were so cute we loved you right away,' his mother assured him, reaching forward to pat his hair. 'Get some rest, Tony.'

He nodded, settling back against the ground, eyes shut. He intended to remain awake but exhaustion claimed him and he drifted off, waking to a hand shaking his shoulder. 'We're moving,' his father told him.

Tony blinked a few raindrops off his eyelids and gazed around, noting the terrorists had assembled the majority of the passengers in something that resembled a line. Groaning unashamedly he rose, helping Michelle to her feet. 'Did you fall asleep?' she asked, the exhaustion plain in her own voice.

'Yeah, I guess so,' he replied, steeling himself for the remainder of the journey, which looked as lethal a descent down the bare mountainside as any mountaineering movie he had ever seen. 'Looks like we're going down again, sweetheart. Just hang onto me,' he said softly, hoping to encourage her to hop a little further_. Just hang onto me, right, Almeida. So you'll fall to your deaths together rather than individually! If ever there was a case of the blind leading the blind, this is it! _He moved forward defiantly, his attitude indicating a false sense of familiarity with the harsh environment.

Ali spared him a searching gaze, attempting to read something from his eyes. Tony looked away in a hurry, the need to remain anonymous paramount to his survival. _He's challenging you, Almeida. He can sense something about you; he's just not sure what it is yet. Just stare at the ground when he looks at you and try to shrink away, or he'll start getting nasty real soon._ He slowed his pace, supporting Michelle's entire weight as they continued their struggle downwards. He slipped near the bottom when some loose stones rolled out from under his foot before he could adjust her weight, leaving him rolling undignified a few yards down the slope before his fingers grabbed a tuft of hard grass and he rose to his knees, wiping the mud from his jeans. Michelle watched with horrified eyes, prevented from joining him by a last minute grab from his father, who held her in his arms. Tony climbed back slowly, his cheeks scarlet and took her arm, nodding his thanks at his father. _I'm okay, nothing hurt but my pride._

His parents seemed to understand his unspoken words, resuming the nightmare descent. The rain increased, further loosening the pebbles. Had he been alone he would have sunk into a miserable heap and wept. He began to wonder whether they would all even arrive at their destination, let alone live long enough to leave.

* * *

'I'll let you know Jack, like I told you a coupla minutes ago,' Chloe exclaimed exasperated. 'You don't need to keep coming in here to remind me. I'm scanning all frequencies for any mention of that plane. I'll let you know when I get something, ok?'

Jack nodded, the restlessness eating his nerves. 'Keep searching.'

Her phone rang, sparing him a sarcastic comment. 'O'Brien,' she sighed. She listened carefully. 'Yeah, he's here.' Covering the phone with her hand, she leaned towards him. 'Mr. Chappelle's holding for you on line one, Jack.'

Jack wondered how he could have predicted that call. 'I'll take it in my office,' he told her, hurrying away to do battle with the man all in CTU answered to.


	10. The Compound

Ryan Chappelle had arrived at Division two hours earlier in what for him was a remarkably good mood. Washington's voting a 5 000 dollar a year increase to his salary was responsible for his feeling of euphoria, an event celebrated the previous evening with his most trusted colleagues - Brad Hammond and Alberta Green among them. Life had indeed seemed good as they drank the choicest wine and dined on a host of delicacies including his favorite Polynesian oysters, all the while bearing in mind that Division would pick up the tab. National security becoming a matter of more pressing concern over the last few years, he felt their pay rises were nothing less than they deserved for the often thankless task of defending the public. After all, even such low level staff members as Bauer and Almeida had been voted an extra 2000 dollars each, Almeida's second in command, Michelle, 1500 dollars, Chloe and Gael an extra 1000, and every single individual analyst had received an extra 500 dollars, a decision he had queried, bearing in mind the budgetary constraints.

The staff at Division mirrored his satisfaction. Judging by their relaxed mood the day was free from any major catastrophe, security leak or serious threat. Senior analysts stood gossiping around the water fountain, two programmers shared secret hatreds of the Dodgers, and Carrie Turner smiled a greeting at him for the first time since she was hired. He greeted them all with a firm decision to overlook a natural laxness that morning, pouring himself a coffee and reading the President's latest speech on the environment. His general satisfaction with life continued until precisely 11:43, when Carrie Turner interrupted the beer he shared with Hammond in Hammond's office.

'Mr. Chappelle. The President is holding for you on line one, sir,' she said nervously.

Their eyes widened, Hammond waving his hand at the phone. Sitting straighter, Chappelle took the receiver. 'Mr. President, this is Ryan Chappelle. How may I help you, sir?' he inquired politely, a thousand questions racing through his mind. Why had the President called him when it was the most peaceful day he could remember? His eyes widened as he listened, his glance darting round the room, followed by a curious Hammond. 'Jack Bauer requested what, sir? But that's preposterous! All that trouble just to ascertain the whereabouts of Almeida.' He fell silent to Hammond's arched eyebrows. 'I see, sir. Sir, if you could give my department an hour to look into the matter, I'll let your office know our findings. Yes sir, I'll do that. Thank you for your patience, sir.'

'What's Bauer done this time?' Hammond inquired, sipping more beer. 'He's gonna use up all his lives one of these days. Or was it Almeida who slipped up? One can never keep a close enough eye on the pair of them.'

Chappelle shook his head in defeat. 'Apparently Almeida was on that Italian airline that was shot down over Pakistan this morning,' he sighed.

'You want me to find a replacement?' Hammond inquired.

'Not yet, Brad. There's a chance he's alive.'

Hammond fought down his disappointment. 'Is he?'

'We're not certain of the survivors yet, but he could be. Quite a few made it, apparently. Jack Bauer spoke to the head of our Air Force base in Uzbekistan demanding the man violate Pakistani airspace and rescue the group.'

Hammond shook his head in disbelief. 'Whatever for?' he wondered aloud.

'After which he attempted to beg the president to intercede and order a rescue. He's going to hear from me, now!' Hammond nodded as he left the room.

* * *

A gale force wind whipped their faces as they huddled together for warmth, the driving rain lashing them. Tony had organized the wounded, the elderly and the children into the center of the circle to provide them the maximum warmth possible, an eye on the terrorists who set up a tent, watching them through the open flap. They sat immobile, Ali's promise of a bullet in the brain for anyone who moved an inch ringing in their ears. Feeling Michelle shivering in his arms he pulled his jacket round her tighter, bending uncomfortably over her to shelter her from the deluge. 'You awake, sweetheart?' he whispered, shivering uncontrollably in his soaking wet t-shirt.

She groaned faintly, her face warm under his fingers. Worried, he took her pulse, noting it beat faster than usual. She was running a fever, the all day trek dragging a broken leg too much for her. 'Mom, have you got anything?' he whispered, hopefully.

Rita Almeida, a children's nurse, was as loaded with medicines as her husband was with drawing materials. She had already given Michelle several painkillers as the day progressed, noting her lethargy with concern. 'What's wrong, sweetheart?' she questioned. Tony took her hand, placing it on Michelle's forehead, fighting against panic. 'She's got a fever,' his mother told him, fumbling through her pocket. 'I've got a few aspirins, but she'd need some water. I'll go ask those men for some.'

'No, mom, I'll go,' Tony interrupted, hating the thought of her approaching the terrorists.

'Antonio, sit down. I don't want you attracting any more attention than you already have, and that goes for you as well, Marco,' she added, turning to her husband. 'You two stay here with Michelle. They won't hurt me.' She set off, watched by an anxious husband and son. To their amazement she returned seconds later with an empty tin cup, holding it up to catch the rain. 'They said we could borrow this, but didn't have any spare water,' she explained.

Exposed to the full fury of the elements, they huddled closer, his parents wrapped together as they attempted to position Michelle as comfortably as possible. They prayed together, begging for shelter the following morning, aware none of them would last long without it. It was one of the longest nights of their lives.

* * *

'Dammit Ryan, there wasn't time to let you know right away,' Jack protested, agreeing with Chappelle's irritation at being kept out of the loop. 'I begged the commander to rescue those passengers whilst they still had some hope. Satellite images show no life near the plane anymore.' He chewed his lip, furious with the DOD for failing to reprogram a satellite in time to track the passengers. 'For all we know those people are hiking through the mountains attempting to seek shelter…'

'They would have stayed with the plane, Jack. I think you're worried they were kidnapped,' Chappelle stated, his eyes boring into the phone. 'And the only reason you'd have failed to inform me of the disaster earlier is that you're concerned Almeida will be broken. Protecting Almeida over national security is quite a charge, Jack.'

'Ryan, I attempted to have him pulled out,' Jack protested, his fifth coffee untouched in his mug. 'And you needn't worry about Tony talking. He's been tortured twice before while he served in the Marines, never said a word either time.'

Chappelle snorted indignantly. 'I'm aware of that, Jack. I checked his file before I interviewed him, remember? Fact is, he's a capable agent and brave officer, with an unfortunate tendency to put his life on the line, but he was alone on those occasions.'

'He had his platoon with him on one of them,' Jack reminded him.

'His men - yes. Not his family. Looking at the passenger manifest, not only is Michelle with him, but his parents as well.'

Jack drew a deep breath, determined to defend his friend. 'Ryan, Tony's aware of the situation. He won't allow himself to be compromised. Besides, we don't even know whether he survived.'

'Your faith in him is touching,' Chappelle told him coldly. 'The moment I receive confirmation he's alive, I'll be forced to take steps to prevent him from compromising us.'

'You'll authorize a rescue?' Jack begged, surprised Chappelle cared enough to attempt anything of the kind.

'I'll do whatever it takes,' Chappelle said coldly. 'And Bauer, that was the last time you called the President on any CTU related matter without running it by me first. Are we clear on that?'

Jack nodded as he held the phone. 'I understand, Ryan.' He sank back onto his chair, drained by the lack of progress they'd made.

* * *

It required almost superhuman effort to get moving the next morning. Colder than he'd ever been, drenched to the skin and starving, he nevertheless managed to pull an unconscious Michelle into his arms. His hopes of milder weather dashed, he set off downhill, focusing on nothing beyond the next step. 'I'll take her for a bit, m'ijo,' his father offered, tapping his arm lightly. He shook his head, determined to keep her near him as long as he could, desperately worried she was slipping from him permanently. She no longer responded when he whispered her name or brushed her curls. He wept inside as he stumbled along the path, losing hope. His father relieved him once he sank onto his knees, too worn out to move another step.

'She'll be okay, sweetheart,' his mother said softly as he shuffled along dazed. 'It's the pain from her leg that's keeping her under. She'll come round once we find shelter.' He shook his head, hot tears merging with icy rain. _She's never gonna come round again, Almeida. You killed her._

An hour later they rounded a final bend in the valley and came upon some rundown stone dwellings surrounded by a seven foot stone wall. Too weary to care what their original purpose could have been they stumbled through a gate, gasping with relief as they entered a large room. Ali slammed the door behind the last of them and they sank onto a stone floor covered with piles of greasy sheepskins. Too worried for a wise comment, he studied them in silence, noting the rest of the passengers sinking onto them.

They slept wrapped in the sheepskins, worn out from the hike, too exhausted to stir. Only Tony remained awake in the silent chamber, praying for Michelle's recovery. She seemed to be resting more easily, her leg wrapped up by his mother who had attempted to straighten the bone with his help, and raised on a second skin he had snatched and rolled up to keep it elevated. _Dear God, please let her get better. She's so beautiful, so kind, so young…Too young to die. She's so sweet, so much better than me. I don't think she ever hurt anyone in her life. If someone needs to die, I can understand that, but don't let it be her. Take me, I don't deserve to live. She's here because of me! _A tear worked its way down his cheek as he watched her chest rising and falling. _Please God, if anyone got to die, let it be me. I can't live without her._ Tears filled his eyes; he wiped them with the back of his hand irritated. _If you help her wake up, I'll never let her outa my sight again. I'll never let anyone hurt her, I promise, just please let her wake up._

Hours later exhaustion claimed him as he knelt beside her and repeated his pleas for her recovery. The world went dark and he slid forward, waking abruptly in time to prevent himself toppling over. He sank onto the sheepskin beside her and pulled his own over them, his head in her slightly damp curls. A lingering trace of her shampoo helped him drift off. Tony rested several hours, halfway between sleep and unconsciousness, stirring to a familiar kiss on his nose.

'Tony, are you up yet?' the sweetest voice he'd ever heard whispered faintly.

He stirred, blinking in the gloom. 'Yeah. How are you, sweetheart?' He ran his hand over her face, relieved to find it cool.

'I'm okay, I think. My leg hurts badly, and what's this SMELL?' she demanded, stirring.

Tony laid his arm on her chest, forcing her back down. 'Easy, sweetheart,' he whispered, not wishing to disturb any of the crowd around them. 'You need to keep your leg real still. It's broken, remember? Mom and I set it when we arrived, it should heal nicely. We'll make you a splint when we find some wood.'

Michelle nodded, turning her head to take in her surroundings. 'Where are we?' she demanded.

'Inside some old compound in the middle of nowhere,' he explained, tucking a curl behind her ear. 'We got here sometime this morning. We spent the night out in a valley in the rain.'

She shuddered, pulling him closer. 'You must have carried me all the way,' she guessed, turning crimson. 'Tony, I'm so ashamed I could…'

'Easy, sweetheart,' he muttered, stroking her hair and thanking God for her improvement. 'I can't think of anyone I'd rather hold in my arms than you.'

She gave him a smile that melted his heart, just as it had the first day he met her over at Division. 'Tony, what's this smell?' she repeated, wrinkling her nose.

'I guess it's the sheepskins,' he replied. 'They're real filthy, but they're warm. Full of fleas, too,' he added, scratching a bite. 'I'll find us some water to wash them in soon as they let us out. Try and get some more rest, honey.'

She sighed, her breath tickling his neck. 'I will in a sec. Tony, I need to go…Have you been there yet?'

'I'll go see if I can find something,' he said, struggling to his feet with difficulty. Sleeping bodies lay stretched out in every corner of the dim room, some lying in groups, some individually. Half asleep, he moved slowly, unwilling to trip over one of them, making his way round the room without discovering anything more than a foul smelling bucket beside the door. He glared at it in disgust, aware how dismayed Michelle would be to resort to using such an object. Working his way back to her, he stepped over his parents, noting them resting in each others arms, his mother's head cuddled snuggly in his father's arm. They appeared to breathe as one. Tony swallowed, remembering the amount of times he had spent the night wedged between the two of them, listening to their breathing whilst trying to discover whether his suspicion about their hearts beating together was accurate. He had never succeeded in proving his hypothesis, though he expected he was right. Taking care to tiptoe past them he slid under his own sheepskin, shaking his head at Michelle. After describing the yellow pail, she agreed that it might indeed be better to wait till their door was opened. Sheer exhaustion forced his eyelids shut; he fell back asleep calmer than before, her hand in his.

A loud clang woke him hours later, repeated at regular intervals. Rubbing his eyes he sat up, unable to imagine where he could be. A foul smell assailed his nostrils, strangers rose all around him and Michelle stirred, groaning. His arm moved automatically, pinning her to the ground. 'Sweetheart, you gotta rest your leg, remember?'

Ali spoke before she could respond, his voice drowned in the disorganized babble. Unaccustomed to being ignored, he raised his rifle and fired a shot into the ceiling, glaring at them. Michelle jumped violently under his arm; shrieks rent the air before the incensed terrorist fired a second burst upwards. Silence fell.

'That's better. You people are more ignorant than a herd of goats! When I come and talk to you, you shut up and listen. I talk - you listen. Is that absolutely clear? Anyone else talks when I talk, that person gets a bullet!' He glared at the horrified group, thick eyebrows meeting over the bridge of his nose.

_Gee, Almeida, that man is far worse than any teacher you've ever met. He's worse than your principal and Sergeant Wills back at boot camp rolled into one. He sure takes his own voice seriously. You better listen!_ He turned towards Ali, a polite expression of attention on his face.

'Alright. You're all staying here for a while. How long that will be will depend upon how soon your countries cooperate with us. Your best hope is that they will do so soon. Now you may walk around in the yard when the doors are unlocked. We have a well with a bucket; feel free to collect drinking water. The building to your left is the dining hall. We will feed you whenever we have the food to do that. The latrines are to your right. Use them. During the night you will use the bucket we have provided. I will not permit any of you outside for any reason whatsoever in the dark. You may not walk over to the fence. Don't even think of leaving us.' He threw them an evil smile that chilled their hearts. 'You would freeze in the mountains. Don't disobey me, or you will regret it.' He left abruptly, leaving them staring at the empty doorway in dismay.

'Tony, I need to find the bathroom,' Michelle insisted.

'Me too,' his mother agreed, feeling her face. 'You had us scared last night, sweetheart. Tony, help her up.'

Tony lifted her, determined to make a splint for her leg as soon as possible. 'Which way was it?' his mother inquired, drawing a faint grin from his father. Rita's legendary lack of the faintest sense of direction had long been a standing family joke.

'To the right,' he replied, sniffing the air dubiously. 'Mom, lemme go check it out first.' He laid Michelle on the ground against the building and set off determinedly towards the right, certain he was headed in the right direction. The stench grew, his stomach gagging before he reached the door. An Italian man stood in the doorway, shaking his head.

'You cannot go in there,' he assured Tony.

Peering past his shoulder, Tony could not fail to agree. Heavy hearted, he returned to his family, unconsciously rubbing his face. His action was not missed by either parent.

'What's wrong, Antonio?' questioned his father, eyeing him carefully. 'Didn't they flush?'

Tony shrugged, settling beside them. 'Ah, I didn't see anything,' he admitted. 'There were some holes in the ground…'

'Oh no,' said his mother in disgust, rolling her eyes heavenward. 'I've heard of those before.'

'And I've seen them,' his father sighed, nodding reluctantly. 'They're awful.'

'Well, that's if you could approach them,' Tony sighed. 'Going in there is a health hazard. I don't recommend it! If people are gonna wander in and outa there whilst we all sleep on the floor, we're gonna get sick real soon!'

* * *

Gael Ortega pushed open the glass door, entering Jack's office. Instinctively he gazed across the bullpen to the opposite office, shaking his head at its silence. Tony's absence had passed pleasantly enough for Gael. Content with the idea of his boss taking a well deserved break, Gael had seized the chance to relax fractionally, taking a day off to go stopping with his wife Teresa, and a sicky which had been spent at the beach with the kids. His guilty conscience was assuaged by the presence of his cell phone. He could return to CTU within an hour should the need arise. The events he had arrived to that morning had hit him like a fist in the guts. Sometime during his romantic evening, his boss had been shot out of the sky and was in all likelihood dead, or severely injured in some God forsaken corner of the globe. Filled with disbelief he had run the satellite images of the plane's final moments repeatedly on his monitor, hoping he was merely having a nightmare. Tony Almeida was, after all, more than merely his boss; he could also be counted a friend. Their parents were close acquaintances, and he had shared a few classes with Tony's younger sister Rita, and played countless games with his younger brothers Marco and Bobby, joining them for basketball whenever they had leave from the Navy. His current position at CTU was courtesy of Tony, who had felt pity for him struggling to find employment. Sometime in the last few minutes he had stumbled upon a message broadcast to the Italian government, which he listened to carefully, rushing to tape it.

'They made contact,' he said breathlessly, depositing a disk on Jack's desk. 'It's all in Italian, but…'

'Who did they contact?' Jack demanded, snatching the disk and pushing it into his computer.

'The prime minister. You wanna see it?'

Jack threw him a sarcastic expression and they watched Ali's masked face, Gael translating his words as well as he was able to make them out. Of primary interest was a list of names and faces shown at the end, each passport held up to the camera. 'Watch this,' Gael said, pausing the footage. Jack peered at a picture in shock, shaking his head.

'That's Tony. He's alive.'

'It would appear so. Look carefully at the passport, it says Giovanni Agnello. He's hiding.'

Jack nodded, hope surging through him. Tony's photo so boldly displayed in another's passport indicated that not only had his friend survived the crash and capture, he had also considered the grave danger facing him and acted upon it. 'Is there more? What about Michelle?'

'We got her too, a little further on,' Gael told him, as satisfied as though he had altered the passports himself. 'Here she is.' They studied the New Zealand passport carefully. 'And I thought you'd like to know, that's his mother.'

'Why would she need to hide under a false identity?' Jack wondered. 'Unless of course Tony wishes to make certain they can never be used against him…But it doesn't make sense. His father has his own passport. I want a list of all the nationalities on that flight, and all the survivors. We're missing something here. And find me a translator.'

He paced his office, filled with relief for his friend's survival and concern at his situation. He would call Chappelle to inform him of the latest developments the moment he had an accurate translation. 'Sit tight, Tony. I'll get you out,' he promised the silent office.


	11. On Borrowed Time

Whiskers twitching, the well fed rat studied the intruder in annoyance, gauging his reaction. The human appeared shocked at the encounter, staring back at it before he had the audacity to stamp his foot and clap his hands. 'Shoo,' he ordered, taking a threatening step forwards. The rat retreated unhurriedly, returning through the hole to the comfort of the kitchen, leaving a small trace of its presence.

'Dammit, this place is filthy. That was a rat, Papa; I swear it just stared at me. It looked like it was daring me to remove it.' Tony glared at his father, who shrugged laconically.

'M'ijo, it probably lives here. We should see about constructing some traps tomorrow. Right now we're supposed to get some dinner, remember?'

Tony nodded, pushing his way into the kitchen to collect two mugs of brown water and a couple of pieces of dry bread. 'Is that it?' he asked, unable to remain silent.

The man on the other side of the table ignored him, pushing further slices of bread out, but his question attracted Ali's attention. The terrorist rose from a chair where he had been observing the passengers and moved over to scowl at Tony. 'You again, Spaghetti! You got quite a big mouth! You got a problem with the dinner?'

_Yeah, I got a problem!_ 'No sir,' Tony replied, chewing his bread hungrily. 'Just, what are we having after this?'

'There's nothing after this. We are poor people; we can't afford to feed our own children, let alone a bunch of uninvited westerners.'

'Uninvited,' Tony muttered under his breath, his comment reaching Ali's sharp ears.

'Uninvited, yes. We did not invite you to fly over our lands.'

Tony chewed more bread, determined to keep his temper in check. 'Since we _are_ here, what are you gonna do about basic hygiene? You're gonna need to get a coupla hundred rat traps and loads of detergent…'

'You like to organize things, don't you, Spaghetti?' Ali noted, taking a step towards him. 'Who the hell do you think you are, lecturing me about hygiene? You so concerned about it, you should do something about it. You're welcome to clean things to your satisfaction tomorrow! In fact, it's probably a good idea.' He rose, beckoning Tony to follow him outside, where he fired another round into the air. The passengers assembled, his mother's face pale as she saw him before the terrorist.

'Listen up. This place hasn't been cleaned in quite a while, as this man has informed me. He's right, it hasn't been. I'm putting him in charge of the clean up! He likes to give orders! Obey him and help him, for if I see anything on the latrine floor by tomorrow night, he'll be hanging from there!' He pointed to a solitary tree in the center of the yard. 'You've got ten minutes to finish up.'

Michelle stared at him shocked into silence as he turned away, cursing himself. _Now you've done it, Almeida! Of course cleaning the latrines is necessary, but how the hell are you gonna get that done with nothing but water from a well?_ He lifted Michelle into his arms, whispering a question to her.

Resigned, she nodded. 'Yeah, the bucket will do!'

* * *

Gael watched the Italian interpreter impatiently, his thoughts hundreds of miles away, concerned for Tony. This was proving to be a long day, and it would not end on his return home. Sooner or later the Almeida family would call, demanding answers. He mentally rehearsed what he would tell Tony's sisters, something along the lines of doing everything humanly possible to discover the passengers' whereabouts. That might satisfy them temporarily, but it would fail to satisfy his brothers. He sighed aloud, annoying the interpreter who held up a hand to silence him.

_They stared at the mess on the carpet in horrified silence, unable to decide how to clean it up before the adults returned. Bobby moved closer to Marco, his eyes wide. "Do something," he insisted. "They'll be back soon." Marco, two years Gael's senior, shook his head slowly, admitting the task was beyond him. Gael winced, knowing he would not escape the punishment facing his friends when his parents returned with the Almeidas. "Tony will know what to do," Bobby exclaimed in relief, rushing up the stairs. "I didn't think he was home today," Gael said in surprise, not having seen him all morning. "He's home, alright," Marco informed him, racing after Bobby. "He didn't hand in some assignment and Papa's mad at him." Not wishing to be left alone with the mess he rushed after them, in time to find the lanky teenager on the floor in the center of the boys' room watching the longest domino train he'd ever seen toppling over. Once the final domino lay on its side Bobby settled on his lap, explaining the disaster with the coke bottle and begging for assistance in eliminating the evidence. Tony sighed aloud, getting to his feet reluctantly. "You know, if Papa gets back and finds me outa this room, I'll be grounded for the rest of the year," he informed no one in particular, rushing downstairs to organize the carpet's clean-up. Gael couldn't remember what he had done, but the stain disappeared within minutes. "There, that's just water, it'll dry. Don't even try shaking coke bottles again! And now I'd better get back to my chemistry assignment!" He caught Gael's bemused expression and grinned,_ _the corner of his lips turning up. "You haven't seen me today!"_

Gael climbed the stairs to Jack's office as fast as he was able, handing him the translation of the transcript. 'Jack, they shot an American. Listen to this, they said, "We shot the American woman." Thing is, we had quite a few Americans on that flight.'

Jack read the transcript frowning thoughtfully. 'We have another young woman, Sylvia Smith with a baby, as well as the Almeidas,' he said slowly. 'Gimme her picture again.' Gael found the photo on the young woman's license on the police database, nodding his head at it. 'Does that match any of the passports?' Jack demanded, scanning the pictures rapidly. 'Hey Gael, take a look at this? Is that her?'

They peered at a German passport in silence, unable to decide. 'Get someone onto that,' Jack ordered. 'I got a feeling the Almeidas are not the only Americans hiding under false ID's.'

* * *

Michelle snuggled into the crook of his arm, gazing at the unplastered ceiling. 'I think even I would've managed to make that dinner,' she grumbled, her leg throbbing. 'A piece of dry bread, and they call it dinner!'

'You see, honey, you'd fit in perfectly,' Tony teased, allowing her to punch his shoulder a lot harder than before. She had to work off her frustrations somehow, and being confined to sitting either inside or directly outside the chamber he had named the 'bedroom' wasn't allowing her to do so. 'I really hate this place. How are you going to clean out the bathroom?'

He shrugged. 'Just keep pouring water on it until it all flows out,' he guessed. 'You hungry, Michelle?'

She snorted in the darkness. 'Of course I'm hungry. Who wouldn't be, after such a large dinner? What's that?' she whispered, startled to feel his hand pressing a package towards her. 'Tony…'

'Eat it, honey,' he urged, determined to keep her healthy. 'It's the last bit.'

She was aware she should save their last Mars bar, but was too hungry to exercise such restraint. Tearing open the package, she stuffed it into her mouth, chewing rapidly. A pang of guilt ran through her as she noticed his dark eyes watching her devour his gift, his tongue inadvertently licking his lips. 'Tony, you're starving! Didn't you eat one yourself?'

He shook his head, squeezing her hand lightly. 'I only had this one. You were sick, sweetheart, you need it more than I do.' Tucking her up with instructions that she should rest, he edged his way through the throng to a corner of the room where his mother was busy examining a host of injuries, some from the crash and others from their forced march, treating everything from blisters to a broken arm. He knelt beside her, offering his services, reminding her he had been trained in basic first aid. It was too dark to see anymore before they were forced to call a halt to the activity, stumbling back to their 'beds.' He squeezed her hand in the darkness, secure in the gloom.

'I didn't check your head,' she reminded him, settling onto him onto his 'bed.' 'It's got a massive bruise.'

Tony ran his fingers over it tenderly, wincing. 'Yeah, it hurts alright.' He allowed her to place a wet cloth over it, hugging her tightly. 'I love you, mom.'

'Me too, sweetheart,' she whispered back, kissing his forehead before she tucked him up and returned to his father. Michelle slept beside him, her breathing deep and even. His parents whispered together in the darkness, discussing their other children and their house, hoping one of their daughters would collect the mail and water the garden.

_This is all your fault, Almeida. Papa, mom and Michelle are all here because of you!_ He stirred restlessly, consumed by guilt. _What if something happens to one of them? Michelle's got a broken leg, you'll have to stay here at least five weeks till she can walk on that again. Papa's got a massive blister on his foot, all purple where it burst, he's got to be in real agony too, and mom is worn out. What if they get sick? These people didn't even feed us. Do you imagine they'd bring us medicines?_ He rolled over restlessly, cursing himself.

'Antonio, close your eyes. Get some rest, you'll be busy tomorrow,' his father ordered, mere feet away in the darkness. 'It's not your fault,' he added, reading Tony as easily as ever. 'We weren't even supposed to be on this flight. Get some rest.' He reached over, laying a reassuring hand on his shoulder. 'Buenas noches, m'ijo.'

* * *

Ryan Chappelle glared at Jack, refusing to be intimidated by the man's unapologetic scowl. 'This is inexcusable, Jack! I ordered CTU to keep me informed of ALL events, and I find that you're keeping me in the dark again. What is it with you, some sick desire to go against protocol for the hell of it?'

Jack shook his head, plagued by a nagging doubt as to Chappelle's intentions with the rescue. 'Ryan, I've got my people looking into all leads,' he began.

'I can see that. You discovered Almeida was alive and using a false identity over five hours ago and failed to inform me! That's the last time I'll tolerate this,' he warned, pointing a finger at Jack. 'I'm keeping a close watch on you from now on, you can be sure of that. And you're obviously swamped with incomplete reports, so I'm sending someone to take over for Tony.'

Jack looked up sharply, hating the thought of a stranger in Tony's office. 'I can manage, Ryan,' he assured his boss. 'I've been running the entire department for the past week. I can do it a few more weeks, if necessary.'

Chappelle shook his head. 'Tony's not coming back; get that into your head. He's been kidnapped by a group capable of downing planes and ruthless enough to shoot a young woman for being American. They'll kill him too, the moment they'll discover his identity, after they've milked him for every piece of information he possesses. We need to find his location immediately.'

Jack narrowed his eyes, his unease increasing. 'And when we find the group? We send our choppers in to get him out, right?'

Ryan sighed and pulled out a chair, indicating Jack should sit back at his desk. 'Look, I realize you and Almeida go back a long way but…I can't risk this nation's security. Almeida can log in and reveal everything – our undercover operations, agents, spies, ongoing investigations…We can't risk that. Changing our codes won't help much; the man's a natural hacker.'

'Ryan, a coupla of helicopter gunships could take out an entire group of militants within minutes. They could be airlifted to safety…'

Chappelle shook his head. 'You don't get it, Jack. That would be violating Pakistani airspace. We are in no position to annoy their leader, he's holding on by a bare thread. If he goes, the nation will turn fundamental. Any rescue attempt on our part will make him appear weak, and he's out.'

Jack shook his head in anger. 'So what are you saying, Ryan? You wish to silence Tony but you won't rescue him. How the hell do you plan on accomplishing it then?'

Chappelle rose, looking apologetic. 'We take out the entire building they're held in. A tragic accident.'

'My God, Ryan, that's crazy!' Jack snapped, shocked. 'You'd be responsible for the deaths of over a hundred innocent passengers, most of them foreign nationals. The international ramifications…'

'Like I said, Jack, a tragic accident. I'm certain we will pay due compensation to their immediate family members,' Chappelle assured him. 'I need CTU to work on locating that group. And call the embassies of the countries our citizens are posing under and let them know the situation. Ask them to respond as though they were genuine citizens.'

'Ryan,' Jack yelled, racing down the stairs after him. 'Wait a minute. There's another thing I didn't let you in on.'

Chappelle threw him a resigned expression and followed him back upstairs, shutting the door behind him. 'Hurry up, Jack. I need to get Division working on this.'

'Tony was working on a program before he left,' Jack began, leaning on his desk as though to seek its support. 'It was his pet project and it wasn't entirely complete, but…'

Chappelle sighed; unsurprised to discover another detail he had failed to be informed about. 'What kind of program?'

'He called it a C code. Compromised code,' Jack explained. 'All agents with a level five clearance and above were to be given a personal number and password in case they were captured. He set up an entire website of false information, it's real detailed, enough to keep any terrorists busy for days. It also sends us a red flag, letting us know he won't be able to hold out much longer. Gives us time to change all our passwords.'

Chappelle nodded, impressed despite himself. 'Good thinking,' he remarked, congratulating himself for having approved Almeida's position as director of CTU. The man was actually useful, though his unorthodox methods never ceased to irritate him.

'Sir, I think we should wait till we get that C code,' Jack finished, softly. 'He deserves that much.'

Their eyes met across the room, neither willing to concede defeat. 'Very well,' Chappelle agreed, secretly relieved to delay the massacre. 'But understand this, Jack. The moment we get that C code, we eliminate our threat.' He turned, walking out of the office without shutting the door.

* * *

Tony slept fitfully, not exhausted enough to require more sleep but unable to find anything constructive to do in the darkness. Thoughts whirled through his head, from old instructions he had received on surviving capture during his military training to a vague attempt at picturing CTU. They would be aware of the disaster by now, he was certain. The plane had, after all, crashed more than 36 hours ago. _Are you aware we're alive, Jack?_ He desperately hoped so; aware the only way CTU could possibly know such a thing was if the terrorists had shown their passports on the internet. He prayed that they had done so; aware they needed rescuing as soon as possible. The conditions of their confinement were poor – it was a matter of time before they started getting weak from lack of food or disease. The general health of the passengers was another matter worthy of urgent contemplation. Did any of them require prescription medication on a daily basis? What would happen should they exhaust their supplies? _In a group of this size, it's a safe bet at least a coupla people will require medication, Almeida. You'd better find out what they'll be needing tomorrow and try to talk to Ali._ He rolled over restlessly, ordering himself to approach the terrorist submissively and beg for whatever was required. The cloth slid off his forehead. He groped for it in the dark, replacing it.

They were woken at dawn the following morning, their door unlocked and hammered on with a large stick. Tony stirred, mercifully woken from the familiar nightmare dating back to his capture and interrogation during his military service. _I don't think I can do that again._ He managed a weak smile at Michelle, relieved to note she appeared healthy. Her eyes smiled up at him, her hand reached towards his face. He knelt down, kissing her warmly. 'How are you doin', sweetheart?'

'I'm fine,' she assured him, looking a lot more rested than on the previous day. 'If only I had some kind of splint I could walk a little…I'm so sick of lying around.' He detected a note of genuine frustration and nodded in understanding.

'I know, honey. I'll make you something today right after I'll get us some breakfast.' He gave her another smile and rose, watching her hands running through her curls.

'Dammit, Tony, I really need my hairbrush. Just look at this mess,' she groaned.

He knelt beside her, attempting to run his fingers through her hair, tangling them in snarls instead. 'Sweetheart, we'll put lots of conditioner in it when we get outa here,' he comforted, hugging her.

She sighed, resigned to his ignorance. 'Tony, if I don't do anything with it real soon, the only way to untangle it will be by using the scissors,' she explained.

A frown of concern appeared on his face, melting her heart. He appeared prepared to argue the point, unwilling to see her part with her curls. 'Sweetheart, I'll help you comb it out, even if it takes a whole day,' he promised, sounding genuine. 'There's no way I'm letting you cut anything, do you hear? And don't worry about it being messy here, everyone else looks the same. Lemme get you some breakfast.'

He left, stepping over the stragglers, his eyes blinking in the brightness. It appeared the storm was over, leaving a perfect day in its wake. Pale clouds floated lazily overhead obscuring the peak of the mountain range. He shaded his eyes, overwhelmed by the sheer beauty of the place, until his eyes rested on the massive wall that held them confined. _Quit sightseeing, Almeida. You're to collect whatever it is they've given for breakfast and take some back to Michelle._ His mother joined him, obviously determined to ensure he accepted whatever was served without comment. To their dismay they received a slice of bread each, identical to the previous evening's 'dinner' with one exception, it was now rock hard.

Rita Almeida shook her head, nibbling a small piece. 'Hopefully none of my fillings will fall out,' she said. 'Do you see anything to drink, sweetheart?'

Tony walked through the empty dining room, returning with a few tin mugs of water. 'That's all they got. Try soaking the bread in it.'

They ate on the sheepskins, the single stale slice doing little to assuage their hunger. Marco returned to see whether there was any spare bread but returned empty handed. Leaving the women, they walked outside to the tree, searching for sticks that might serve as splints. Everything on the ground appeared brittle and damp. Tony glanced round, noting their hijackers appeared occupied with overseeing the remainder of breakfast. He swung himself a couple of feet up, breaking off three stout branches, and handed them down to his father. Seizing the opportunity for a little recon, he noted there was a dirt track leading away from the opposite side of the building, running in a straight line as far as the bend in the road.

'There's a road here, Papa. I'm guessing we're not far from some sort of settlement,' he guessed.

Marco nodded. 'I was thinking there would have to be something close by. Those terrorists didn't expect all of us, Antonio. You can see how unprepared they are to handle so many people. They just wanted to destroy a plane. We're an unexpected bonus.'

Tony nodded, eyeing his father.

'Tell me the Mexican government negotiates with terrorists,' his father asked hopefully. 'I'd need to get your mother out of here with my passport as soon as possible. She's too clean to deal with this kind of place.'

'No one negotiates with terrorists,' Tony admitted. 'We'll just have to get outa here on our own. It shouldn't be too hard, once we know their routine.'

His father nodded, an eye on the wall. 'Oh, we'll get outa here alright, but then what? They know these mountains a little better than we do! They'd round us all up in a coupla hours! We don't even have suitable clothes or shoes for this kinda adventure. Won't CTU try to get you released? They're aware we're here, by now. They might worry you'll be questioned.'

Tony's eyes sank, examining his damaged shoes. 'They can't, Papa. Only the president could authorize such a rescue, and it's unlikely he'll risk destabilizing the entire region for me. We're on our own.'

Marco Almeida nodded, moving towards the 'bedroom.' 'I was afraid you were gonna say that,' he admitted. 'Tony, let's keep this to ourselves. Michelle probably knows it already, but her leg's so painful she needs something to hope for. Let your mother expect rescue, it will keep her calmer for a while.'

Tony nodded. 'You got it.'


	12. A Long Day

'Have you ever done this before?' Michelle inquired dubiously as he fumbled with the sheepskin, struggling to tear off a piece.

'Yeah,' he replied, nodding his head at the branches. 'I fixed a broken leg before with a splint. The doctor said I done a remarkable job, too.' He turned to regard her with a satisfied expression. 'I got all kinda talents, sweetheart.'

'Sewing doesn't appear to be one of them,' she chuckled, removing the skin from his hand. 'What are you trying to do? You don't need a large piece; a few threads would do just as well. Brains over brute force,' she teased, unrolling a few strands.

Tony folded his arms, wincing. 'Yeah. I hate to tell you this, sweetheart, but a few threads are never gonna hold the splint together. I'll see whether I can find a tiny piece of sheepskin. Dammit, it would be so easy with a knife!'

Michelle nodded soberly. 'There weren't any, in the Stone Age,' she reminded him. 'That's where we arrived, Tony, into the Stone Age.'

'Except that they got hold of our missiles from somewhere,' he muttered, peering carefully at the spread out skins.

'Tony. Was it one of ours?' she questioned, her face serious.

He nodded grimly. 'Yeah, from the eighties. I'm guessing it was given to some Mujahaden fighting the Soviets, and this one got overlooked. Tell you what, they were made well. You can imagine the kinda place they'd be stored.' He moved further, poking through the skins, dissatisfied with the selection. 'How's your leg?' he inquired casually, lifting a piece of cloth up to examine it. 'Does it hurt real bad?'

'No, it's already a lot better,' she lied, avoiding his gaze.

He nodded as though he believed her, impressed with her self control. _It's bound to be painful as hell, Almeida. After all, she's only been taking a few aspirins to deal with it!_ 'Alright, I found something,' he told her, kneeling beside her. 'You ready to get this done?'

She nodded, a faint trace of wariness in her eyes. _It's okay, Michelle, I won't hurt you. You should know I'd NEVER hurt you._ Keeping his face neutral, as they taught in first aid back at the academy, he bound the cloth round her leg firmly enough to hold. 'How's that? Not too tight?' he asked.

'It's fine,' she assured him comforted by his quiet confidence. He slipped a finger inside to make certain he was not about to cut off her blood circulation before applying the branches, binding them together with the thin threads she held in her hand.

'We'd need as many more of those cords as you can make,' he told her, bending forward to sweep some hair from her forehead and kiss her. 'Just to make it a little more secure. Michelle, I got you a walking stick!' He reached behind his parents' sheepskin and held a stout branch in the air, displaying it proudly. 'Lemme tell you it was hard to snap this one,' he told her, displaying his scratched palms.

Michelle breathed a sigh of relief, glad to regain her independence. 'Thanks, honey. Let me see if I can get up alone.' She took her 'walking stick' and pulled herself up leaning on it, hopping towards the door. 'So far so good,' she breathed.

Tony nodded, a step behind her in case she stumbled. 'You're doing fine, honey.'

* * *

Jack laid his briefcase on the floor, removing his laptop. He was exhausted, having spent a large part of the night on the couch sipping beer, contemplating Tony's fate. _You sent him over to deliver that speech, Ryan. It's your fault that he's in real danger right now, and you were ready to blast the whole lot of them to hell. To kill Tony and leave the militants free rein to down as many more planes as they choose! _Worn out, he stared across the bullpen, noting Adam working on something down below with his usual quiet efficiency, his presence barely felt. Gael was there too, half an hour early, head buried in his monitor.

Jack sighed. Tony's replacement was due to arrive any moment. The thought of some unknown taking over his friend's office bothered him more than he cared to admit. Another person sitting at that desk would finalize Tony's departure, the 'replacement' part of the title obviously temporary. Whoever would arrive would most certainly be his new co-director, and he wasn't willing to acknowledge anyone in such a position. Not yet. Not while Tony was obviously alive. Maybe not ever.

The sharp clicking of high heeled shoes grabbed his attention. He frowned, unused to hearing such rhythmic taps from anyone at CTU. Peering through his window, he groaned aloud. 'You gotta be kidding!' he remarked to the silent office. Head held high, narrow skirt accentuating Barbie style legs, Alberta Green crossed the bullpen, heading directly to Tony's office. The groan he had struggled so valiantly to keep inside slipped out. 'Shit,' he breathed.

* * *

Alberta Green switched on the lights, staring disapprovingly round the office formerly occupied by Tony Almeida, a man she thought little of. Oh, he was capable of running the place alright, provided one overlooked his frequent sarcasm and intrinsic loyalty to what he "thought was the right thing to do," which was a short explanation for what Jack Bauer thought was the best thing to do, another man she was definitely not thrilled to be working with. His desk was as cluttered as she had expected. She laid her bag on the floor and set about the thankless task of clearing herself some space. The corners and shelves were filled with an unbelievable collection of knickknacks. There were dozens of framed photos of Michelle Dessler in various locations, at the beach, in the hills, and some in what appeared to be their home. Filled with natural curiosity she studied these pictures, noting the style of their lounge suite, their dining room furniture, and their kitchen. Several photos graced the top shelf, displaying crowds of brown haired people, one holding a baby, a lot of them bearing a striking resemblance to Tony. In the center of the second shelf, in a corner by itself stood a mug with some sporting emblem on it. Alberta sighed, turning her attention to the drawers under the desk. The first one was filled with folders, CTU related, while the second appeared full of sporting magazines, baseball in particular. Alberta gave a little shake of her head. It was as she had suspected. Tony Almeida obviously spent a great deal of his time following his team's results rather than concentrating on his work! Alberta peered into the bullpen, noting with disapproval that though it was but ten minutes to the beginning of the day, very few people had arrived. She picked up her phone, summoning the brown haired man she saw directly beneath her.

He walked up the stairs obviously preoccupied. 'You rang, ma'am?' he inquired.

'I did,' she replied, eyeing him in distaste. The man's lack of attention to his surroundings could have been tolerated by no one apart from Almeida, but then again, what could she expect of someone who collected so much baseball trash? 'Your name,' she asked icily.

The man stared at her startled. 'Adam, Adam Kaufman,' he introduced himself, falling silent again.

Alberta sighed. Obviously top IT specialists picked jobs in the better paying private sector, but this man was about as slow as they came. 'Adam,' she said, each syllable expressing disdain. 'Could you find me some boxes?'

The man stared at her in such bewilderment that the thought of firing him on the spot ran through her mind. 'Boxes?' he repeated, his eyes indicating an absolute lack of discernment.

'Yes, boxes. Cardboard boxes,' she explained as slowly as she would have to a dim witted six year old. 'Boxes to pack things in.'

The man's eyes flickered as he snapped out of his daydream. 'You're packing Tony's stuff!' he asked incredulously. 'Ma'am, he'll be needing them when he gets back.'

'He may collect them on his return,' she informed him chillingly. 'But no, I don't think his owning a few dozen baseball magazines would in any way help him with his work. Now I need at least three large boxes,' she finished, opening her laptop.

Adam stared at her a moment longer before leaving the room, his disapproval of his task expressed by the wide open door. Alberta got up to close it in irritation, noting him crossing the bullpen and heading straight up into the Field Ops. section, obviously on his way to complain to Bauer. Ah well, she had a few things that required discussion with him as well.

* * *

Tony fastened the handkerchief across his nose before throwing the bucket of water into the entrance of the latrines, hoping to dislodge some of the filth on the floor. A little of the filth moved, flowing backwards towards the holes. Tony straightened, heading back to the well for a second bucket. He would be occupied with the task for the entire day, fortunate if he finished by the evening. After a few dozens trips he paused for a break, leaning against the tree as he didn't wish to walk over the courtyard towards the crowd in his grimy shoes.

'Antonio, give me the bucket,' his father said, appearing beside him. 'You look worn out.'

Tony shook his head, straightening. 'I'll do it, Papa. I'm fine.'

'Of course you're fine, but you need a break. We shouldn't waste time, this job is important. It gives me something to focus on rather than just staring at the walls,' he explained, taking the bucket from his son. 'Go find a broom, it would help,' he suggested as he drew the first bucket.

They worked steadily for the following three hours, taking it in turns to draw water or to sweep the slime from the floor, changing whenever the stench became too much to bear. Marco refused to accept his son's assurance that he was capable of finishing the task himself, hobbling back to the well to avoid the discussion. 'You think I'm gonna leave you with such a task, Antonio?' he questioned reproachfully, removing the broom from his hands. 'You go fetch the water now.'

Tony drew a deep breath once he stood in the fresh air, his eyes stinging. 'Sure don't notice anyone coming to give us a hand,' he observed, throwing the water as hard as he could against the back wall in a vain attempt to remove what looked suspiciously like, well, he wouldn't think about it!

'It's okay, at least we get a chance to talk a little,' his father told him, patiently. 'Antonio, promise me one thing, ok?' He watched Tony nodding. 'If anything should happen to me, I want you to take care of your mother just as I did, and watch the younger ones as well. Keep the family together, hmm.'

Tony swallowed, his heart aching. 'You know I will. But now you gotta promise me something. You gotta survive this. I'm gonna need all the help _I_ can get when we leave this place.'

* * *

Division's systems administrator opened Tony's emails (in the interests of national security – by direct orders from her) within half an hour. Alberta studied the folder fascinated, unable to resist casting a hurried glance down the now crowded floor. The emails were organized into two separate folders, one CTU related, which she idly clicked through, the second one marked private. Curiously she clicked onto that box, opening a folder containing several hundred messages. The chance to snoop into the lost director's personal life proved irresistible. She clicked on the latest one, sighing to discover it was in Spanish. Ah well, her hours of struggle at high school were about to be rewarded.

_Hey Tony_

_The sprinklers aren't working. The bore keeps making this humming sound. Got any ideas? Jose._

A detailed technical explanation followed from Tony, also in Spanish, ending with the fascinating statement that the bore should work were that one valve replaced as "I dug the well and installed it myself!" She shook her head in amazement. So the director had installed an entire sprinkler system and bore! Alberta pursed her lips, noting the message was from Mexico. That explained it, then. She was aware he had relatives there. Eagerly she opened the second message. It was just as intriguing.

_Wanna get together for a beer sometime? Just thought I'd let you know, I actually beat that coach I was telling you about 6-4 7-6 (6-3). How's that?  John._

She stared at it fascinated, wondering who the unknown John could be. The following email was from someone called Jane, who warned him not to fail to purchase a toy kangaroo while he was in Australia for someone called Sandy, who was certain to love it. Next was a long letter from Rita in San Francisco, who grumbled about a man taking the promotion she was due, followed by a cheerful letter from someone who addressed himself as Bobby, your favorite brother, who described a rowdy shore leave in the United Kingdom which concluded with the description of a fellow lieutenant falling drunken into the sea and being pulled out by his hair. The favorite brother had a certain talent for writing, she had to admit. She found herself absorbed in his detailed description of smuggling the soaking wet lieutenant back onboard his destroyer, away from the vigilant captain, who apparently strongly disliked that young man. Well, reading the details of the shore leave, she fully sympathized with the captain. It appeared he suffered from the same lack of quality in his junior officers as she was forced to endure at Division. She closed the email, clicking on the following one, which also originated from the US navy, from someone called Marco. To her annoyance, the letter refused to open. She clicked on it again, only to have the entire page close. Outraged, she peered outside. The person who had cut her off would pay for that dearly.

* * *

Jack nodded at the door, fully aware whoever knocked would enter regardless of his lack of invitation. In the hour Alberta Green had been at CTU he had placated just about every member of Tony's staff with the exception of the man who now stood before his desk, a dangerous smile on his face. 'You needed something, Gael?'

'Who's that bitch?' Gael demanded, never one to waste time with beating around the bush.

'Alberta Green. She's filling in for Tony temporarily,' Jack said, repeating the lie he had told all morning.

'She was reading Tony's private emails,' Gael hissed, narrowing his eyes.

Jack shook his head in defeat. The woman was impossible, clearly feeling herself invincible, alienating a dozen people in her first hour. He already had a letter of resignation on his desk, and from the gleam in Gael's eyes, he would need to recall his officer training in a hurry, the kind needed to placate hostile civilians. 'Just put them someplace she can't get to them,' he instructed. 'There's nothing I can do about it, Division sent her. Look, Gael,' he lowered his voice, 'Tony needs you here right now, to help locate him and to keep an eye on his stuff. Think you're up to that?'

Gael's smile was chilling.

* * *

The unflavored green slime was consumed by the famished passengers only because of their intense hunger. Michelle cast him a few miserable looks while he struggled valiantly with his own portion, nodding his encouragement at her. 'It's not so bad, really, sweetheart. Just take a deep breath and swallow it down real quick. It's probably healthy.' She nodded at him dubiously, struggling with another spoonful. 'I guess we should be grateful for getting a warm meal,' he concluded, forcing his final spoonful down. _You deserve to be congratulated, Almeida. That was great foreign relations, managing to eat an entire plate of slime…Who're you kidding? You ate it because you're starving…_ He gave her a hug and returned to the latrines, determined to finish his task by the evening. The last thing any of them needed was an outbreak of cholera.

His father joined him, taking the broom. 'Look, Papa, you helped me all morning,' he protested. I can finish up here. Why don't you sit down and rest your foot? I saw that blister.'

His father shrugged. 'I'm not putting any weight on it. Tony, your mom offered to take over…' Tony shuddered. 'So I'm back.' He nodded, returning to the back breaking task of hauling water from the deepest well he had ever seen. _Look at it this way, Almeida. At least the drinking water won't get contaminated by the latrines…_He threw it where his father pointed.

'You can take a break now, Tony. I just need to scrub here…'

'I'll do that,' he insisted, watching while his father folded his arms.

'There's so many things I wanted to tell you, Tony, things I just kept putting off till later…Perhaps things I was not so proud of…'

'You can tell me in a coupla years, Papa,' Tony insisted, noting his progress with satisfaction. It appeared as though they would be done by the evening after all. _Don't talk as though we're just waiting to die, Papa. We're getting out of here!_

His father shook his head slowly. 'You resemble, me, m'ijo - you inherited my mathematical talents, and my personality also, but you got a lot of your mother's family in you too. I wasn't like you and Marco and Bobby, capable of organizing groups of people. I was interested in one thing mainly, drawing buildings.'

'I know,' Tony replied, smiling.

'I wasn't that successful in the army,' his father admitted. 'I finished high school with near perfect grades and won a scholarship to study architecture in Chicago, and I thought I had it all made, till I discovered I had to complete my national service before I could go. You can imagine how 'thrilled' I was. We ended up in the south, keeping an eye on some Indians…At least there was one good thing about it, I'd always longed to see the Mayan ruins, and I figured if not now, then when?'

Tony paused, leaning on the broom, studying his father with interest. 'Did you sneak off, Papa?'

'Sí. I knew where the nearest site was, just an old ruin really, so after I finished guard duty I set off. It took a coupla hours of steady walking, but I got there in the end. It was some old temple as far as I could make out, just one wall of it really, far from any tourist trail. I examined the stones, walked round a bit, then sat down and drew it. It was so peaceful there, just me and this ancient monument. I completely forgot my rest period would soon end and I'd be required to go on duty again. I could almost 'see' what that temple would've looked like complete, so I drew it in all its glory, complete with a road and people.'

Tony chewed his lip in silent amusement. He understood why his father had refused to entertain them with tales of his army days despite their begging him to do so. He had been every sergeant's worst nightmare, a dreamy intellectual. 'How long did that take?'

Marco Almeida raised his eyebrows. 'Quite a while. The first owls were hooting round the ruins when I remembered I was expected back…I got a month in the stockade.'

'I'm sorry, Papa,' Tony said sympathetically, resuming his sweeping.

'Don't be. I had it coming. Anyway, my military service eventually drew to an end, and I hadn't managed to kill myself or anyone else, so I set off for Chicago. It was the first large city I'd ever lived in. College was real tough. All the English I'd learned at school was rusty after the army…I had very little money and knew no one. That first year we were required to pick a variety of subjects apart from our majors, and I chose American History.'

Tony nodded, remembering hours of sitting on his father's knee listening to stories about ancient civilizations populated by heroes with unpronounceable names. 'But you done okay.'

His father raised his eyebrows for the second time. 'Eventually. I picked this dark spot at the back of the auditorium and settled in to listen. You know, I had no trouble reading English, but understanding people speak it was a lot harder. I figured I should go home…Then, about ten minutes into the lecture, the door opened and this girl appeared…'

'Mom,' Tony guessed, his eyes lighting up. 'She's always late everywhere!'

Marco Almeida nodded, removing the broom and waving at him to take a break. 'Sí. I still remember what she wore. She had the most beautiful eyes I ever saw and I just stared at her…She noticed me too…She grabbed a chair, told the man sitting next to me to move a little further and sat right beside me! She asked whether she was late. I don't remember what I answered, but she spent the rest of that lecture whispering to me. I decided to stick with college after all, even if I barely understood a word. She promised it would get better.'

Tony glanced at him, noting the smile his father always displayed when speaking about his wife. 'I'm glad you stayed, papa.'

His father nodded back. 'Me too.'


	13. Skeletons In The Closet

Alberta Green positioned herself advantageously on the second step, surveying the assembled group with a smirk of disdain. It was clear to her that she was disliked, the air thick with tension, but it was an atmosphere she cultivated by choice, preferring respect over devotion. The team that awaited her new instructions was unused to her style, she could tell from a mile. They were the sort who would work day and night during a crisis if Tony asked them to stay - not hesitating to take the occasional sick leave on quieter days. Well, that was about to change. She would have them jumping at her commands within the week.

'For those of you who haven't worked with me yet, my name is Alberta Green,' she began, enjoying the first line of the introduction above the rest of her 'speech.' 'I'll be here to run things until CTU finds a replacement for Director Almeida. Until such time I shall attempt to sort through this backlog left unattended, and I expect full…'

'Excuse me; did I hear you say that CTU is seeking a replacement for Tony? I don't understand why. He didn't resign,' a Latino interrupted her, his narrow eyes boring into her own, interrupting her speech at its most significant point.

She favored him with an icy stare. 'I haven't quite finished. As I was saying, I expect your full cooperation. Anyone arriving a minute late will be fired! Shoddy work will no longer be tolerated! Lunch breaks are 25 minutes only; see that you're back on time. Don't imagine you can get away with slipping things past me; I have a nose fine tuned to detect bullshit. Should you decide to take a day's sick leave, I will expect that to be covered by a note from a doctor. That is all, get back to work.'

They scattered, wearing slightly bemused expressions, obviously unused to showing respect to a superior. Much to her annoyance the Latino remained behind, eyeing her challengingly. 'You wanted something?' she asked.

'I had a question, Ms. Green. Why seek a replacement for Tony, when he's obviously returning in a coupla weeks?'

'What was your name?' she demanded, undisturbed by his persistence.

'Gael Ortega,' he replied, side tracked. 'Why,' he began again, persisting despite her writhing glare.

'Because we both know, Gael, that he's not returning,' she told him sweetly.

* * *

Tony surveyed the bathroom, satisfied with his efforts. The entire place was clean, though the lingering smell would take a while to dissipate. 'Looks like we avoided cholera,' he said relieved. 'I'll go get Michelle; she'd appreciate a little privacy.' Marco nodded in silent exhaustion.

Michelle had evidently been practicing hobbling around while he had been occupied. She rose, moving towards him with the confidence of one who had been on crutches for years. 'Hey, Tony.' She paused, sniffing the air dubiously.

'I know, I need to change,' he told her softly, his eye on the passengers sitting aimlessly in the shade behind her. 'What were you doing, sweetheart?'

'Getting to know everyone,' she replied, following him to the bathroom. 'You know, I was terrified someone had been to New Zealand, but no one had.' She let out a sigh of relief and Tony grinned at her.

'Sweetheart, it's real simple. If someone had been there, you gotta ask first where they've been, then tell 'em you're from the other island! So what do you think of our job?' He stood aside, letting her enter first.

She threw her arms round him the moment they entered, her tongue probing his mouth. Tony held her to him, returning the passionate kiss in the temporary privacy the bathroom offered. 'I love you so much, Tony. It's the hardest thing in the world, pretending we only just met. I keep having to stop myself from just grabbing you for a kiss.'

He nodded. 'Yeah, same here. Come here,' he whispered, drawing her back for a second kiss, determined to hold her for a few minutes longer. 'I know it's not the most romantic spot in the world…' They giggled together, arms wrapped round each other.

'Not the most romantic, no,' she agreed, amused. 'Even Billy back in junior high picked the back of the bike sheds.'

Tony raised his eyebrows fractionally, peering at her. 'Billy?' he questioned, his tone betraying intense curiosity. 'Just what did he plan on doin' there?'

Michelle chuckled; thrilled he'd picked up on the topic.

'Come on, sweetheart. Don't tell me you never met any girls behind the bike shed.'

Tony folded his arms, scrutinizing her. 'I went to a boys' school, sweetheart. You gonna tell me about Billy, or do I have to arrest every single man with that name when I get back?'

Michelle laughed aloud, thrilling him. _It's working, Almeida. You're distracting her from our dismal situation. And if you're completely honest, you're not gonna get a moment's rest till you hear all about it!_ 'Michelle,' he pressed. 'What did you do with Billy behind the bike sheds?'

She turned red in his arms, avoiding his gaze. 'I got my first kiss,' she admitted.

'Hah,' Tony muttered, shaking his head in disapproval. 'Behind a bike shed! So what's he doin' now?'

Michelle shrugged. 'Haven't seen him since junior high,' she said, to his secret relief. 'So you never hung out behind the bike sheds, Tony? Not for anything?'

'Not in high school, sweetheart, it was too well patrolled, but I had a coupla fights there in elementary school,' he admitted.

'Fights,' she said disapprovingly. 'Tony, that's not what that place is for! So where did you get your first kiss?'

Tony tossed his head, reluctant to explain. 'Oh, ok, if you insist. One of my sister's friends was unable to go home without trying to kiss me first.' He pulled a face as she laughed aloud. 'She managed to track me down, no matter where I hid!'

Michelle shook her head bewildered, turning a critical eye on him. 'Who was the first girl YOU kissed, Tony? And don't tell me it was one of your sisters or cousins. I mean the first girl not related to you.'

'Lupita from the swim team, if you must know.' He paused, remembering the fluorescent pink bathers she wore, her hair in two braids swinging round her shoulders, the way her body curved as she dived into the water…

His daydream was interrupted by a sharp tap on his wrist. 'So what's she doing now?' Michelle inquired in the same tone of casual disinterest he had attempted to use earlier.

'She's married to the head of the swim team,' he admitted. 'It's okay, Michelle, you don't have to be jealous! She dumped me for him the moment he said hi. They moved to Florida years ago.'

'Who's jealous?' Michelle exclaimed, breaking away from him rapidly as someone entered the bathroom. The middle aged Italian matron stared at them curiously, giving Tony a pointed look of disapproval. Taking the hint, he left the room, waiting for Michelle in the last patch of sunshine in the courtyard. Once again his eyes studied the walls, estimating their solidity. Were they as poorly maintained as the rest of the buildings? He desperately hoped so. Michelle would be unable to walk anywhere for another five weeks, but there was no harm in working on his escape plans.

'Don't I get complimented on cleaning the place?' he demanded as she emerged. 'It took the whole day!' His righteous indignation drew a smile to her lips.

'You do. Sweetheart, that was an incredible job! From now on I'll assign you clean-up on a regular basis!'

Tony rolled his head in mock indignation. 'Thanks for the promotion!' he groused. He walked beside her, ready to grab her should she stumble on the uneven surface, his eye on the subdued passengers. He sighed inwardly, aware he would not be able to hide from them much longer. _You're gonna have to put your acting talents to use right about now, Almeida! Maybe storming out of the school play was the wrong move. It surely wouldn't have killed you acting a dwarf, rather than the prince!_ He ran his eye over them slowly, taking in every detail before he turned to Michelle. 'Anyone you wanna warn me about?' he inquired.

'No, they're all fine. I don't think they suspect anything,' she replied, her face expressionless. 'Most of them speak English. There's a few from Australia on their way to visit relatives in Italy and a couple who work in Indonesia or Malaysia on their way home. They're all in shock.'

Tony nodded, having guessed as much from their dejected appearance. 'Give them another day to settle in,' he predicted. 'Then they'll start talking. Just stick to your cover story. Did you get a chance to talk to that woman?'

Michelle threw him a scornful look. 'Of course I did! We worked up a plausible cover for her. She's from Frankfurt, but her parents worked abroad, members of a medical team sent out to various African countries, which is why she speaks English with an American accent. She was sent to an American school for the children of these foreigners…'

Tony nodded. 'Well done. Think she'll pull it off?' It had been a nagging worry in his head whilst he had cleaned the latrines, aware the unknown woman was the weak link in the chain.

'She'll be alright, Tony. She knows they'll kill her and the baby if she cracks.'

'Alright, just keep an eye on her. Make sure she knows she's not alone. You're good at that.'

They parted company as they reached the crowd, Michelle moving to join a young Italian woman who seemed keen on discussing the location of the filming of "The Lord of the Rings", while he moved to the wall, leaning against it with closed eyes. With a bit of luck they would assume he was worn out from the hard work and leave him in peace. _It should work, Almeida. You look exhausted, and you stink!_

'So how are you coping?' a voice interrupted him, the owner's shadow blocking the last rays of the sun from his head.

Tony opened his eyes reluctantly and nodded his head at the junior pilot who seemed unperturbed by the stench. 'Okay,' he said slowly, opening his mouth again. 'Look, right now you're the only one who knows…'

'I won't tell anyone, I promise you that. That's what I came to tell you,' the man explained to his relief. 'We would have sustained far more structural damage without the undercarriage. Paolo Bonillo,' he introduced himself. 'Full pilot now, I guess, though the promotion is moot. That plane's not going anywhere.'

'You sure about that?' Tony inquired.

'Oh sí. That poor bird is dead now.' He shrugged fatalistically before wandering off in the direction of his compatriots.

Ali appeared directly after he left, firing his rifle into the air. This time everyone turned to him in respectful silence. 'Alright, people, it appears you are learning,' he began, self satisfaction oozing from him. 'It's dinner time. Get yourself a bowl and finish it up fast. The door will be locked in twenty minutes. Come with me, Spaghetti,' he finished, turning to Tony.

_Gee Almeida, you're doing your utmost to stay out of the guy's hair, and he just won't quit coming to seek you out. What the hell is it now?_ He pushed himself away from the wall and followed a few armed militants over the courtyard to the latrines. Ali entered, indicating he should wait outside.

'Good job, Spaghetti,' he began, eyeing him as he stepped back out. 'I'm leaving you responsible for the continued maintenance of this place. It better be like this every evening.'

Tony stared at him in dismay, unable to belief his ill luck.

'I'm waiting,' Ali reminded him.

He nodded an assent. 'Yes sir.'

'Good. It appears as though you are an educated man, Spaghetti. What is your profession?' he demanded.

_What the hell was that guy's profession? That's something you'll never know, Almeida. Better tell him something you can do._ Tony raised his eyes, deciding on a career. 'I'm an engineer,' he replied.

Ali nodded. 'I thought so. A word of warning, engineer. Keep quiet and do your work, and you'll be fine here. Step out of line, you'll be very sorry.' The last sentence sent a shiver down his back. 'Now go get your dinner.'

Michelle handed him a bowl of the same green slime they had been fed at lunchtime, a look of despair on her face. He took it from her slowly, too weary to thank her. She waited while he struggled through his portion before heading back to the 'bedroom'. Tony remained in the dinner hall a moment longer, head in his hands.

It took all his training to head back over to the well and strip to his underwear, pouring an icy bucket of water over himself. Shivering in the cool breeze he hauled a second bucket to a deserted spot between the latrines and the perimeter fence, grabbing the chance to strip naked and wash his clothes.

'What the hell are you doing, Spaghetti?' demanded an outraged Ali, the guns of his two guards aimed at him.

'Having a shower,' Tony replied, disconcerted. 'Cleaning that place out kinda makes it necessary.'

Ali shook his head. 'You westerners lack no shame. There are women here…'

'No sir, not right here,' he protested.

'One could walk past any minute.'

Tony nodded. 'Yes sir, that's why I'm hurrying. It would really help if you'd provide us a room to wash in and a change of clothes. We all got plenty of stuff in our suitcases back on the plane.'

Ali laughed aloud, spitting on the ground. 'Nobody's going back to that piece of scrap metal,' he decided, his eyes blazing. 'It will rust there, a symbol of our new independence!'

'Ali, we all need a change of clothes. People are going to start getting sick if they can't wash,' he begged.

'I'll organize something,' Ali relented. 'Now get dressed and…your clothes are wet!'

'Yes sir, there was no point washing and putting them back on like that,' Tony explained. He shivered slightly in the strengthening breeze, uncomfortably aware of the rifles aimed at him. Rubbing the drops of water off himself with his t-shirt, he pulled it over his head, bending to collect his boxers.

'Wait. How do you imagine those will dry?' Ali asked, furiously. 'Don't think I'll let you go if you get sick, Spaghetti, it won't happen. You get sick here, you'll die!' He turned and snapped an order at one of his men who disappeared, returning with a large beach towel. 'Wear that tonight!'

'Thanks,' Tony replied, removing his t-shirt and hanging all his clothes on the edge of the well to dry.

'You're a troublemaker, I can see that,' Ali told him to his alarm.

'You're wrong sir. I've always done as I was told,' he lied, his face sincere.

'With a gun to your head, maybe,' Ali retorted, apparently an incredible judge of character. 'Now get back with the others. I'm keeping an eye on you,' he finished, shoving him roughly in the direction of the buildings.

Tony remained silent, filled with foreboding.

* * *

Jack stared at the scene which typified a normal day at CTU. People worked hunched over their monitors, Gael left tech one with a disk and two junior analysts gossiped in the rec. room. He sighed in frustration. Tony had been held captive for two days and they were no closer to discovering his location than at the same time twenty four hours ago. He was exhausted, having elected to remain at CTU overnight in the hopes of discovering something concrete. His head sank into his hands as he yawned.

His phone rang persistently until he summoned the strength to raise his head and answered. 'Bauer.'

His caller proved to be Chappelle again, demanding to be informed of any updates. Jack admitted for the fifth time that day that the reason he hadn't called Division was that there simply weren't any updates to report. They had nothing. As far as CTU was concerned, the passengers of flight 3993 had vanished.

Chappelle failed to sympathize, insisting on more concrete information by the following day, without which he would be forced to take action. Jack remained silent, aware that his boss's hands were as tied as his own.

'Sir, if the military would have repositioned their satellites when we asked them, we would now have a detailed map of all the tiny settlements,' he explained, for the second time that afternoon. 'Right now we're still gathering data, but at this stage it's not all that helpful. We have dozens of hotspots in the valleys, all with a coupla hundred civilians. As we have nothing to compare it to, it's going to be a real hard task determining which one is ours. You gotta give us more time.'

Chappelle hung up, as dissatisfied as before.

* * *

Rita's arms were warm round the towel as she pressed him close to her for a hug in the darkness. 'You must be real tired, sweetheart,' she whispered, ruffling his hair the way she had since he was a newborn. 'I'm so proud of you. That job needed to be done and only you and your father chose to help us all out.'

He shrugged. 'It had to be done. You meet any interesting people today, mom?' He was aware his mother's natural friendliness led people to open up to her. Should anyone prove suspicious about them, his mother would be the first to know. _You ever want a position at CTU mom, you got it._

Her fingers stroked his uncombed hair as she leaned closer to his ear. 'Actually, sweetheart, I took a walk today to check the compound for any structural weakness,' she informed him.

Tony gasped in disbelief. 'You did _what_? You're no architect!'

'You don't need a degree in architecture to check whether the walls are the same height all the way round,' she informed him sternly. 'Or to check their condition.'

'You tellin' me you checked out the walls in broad daylight in front of Ali and all his nuts?' Tony groaned. 'Mom, what were you thinkin' about? They would've noticed you!'

'Of course,' she said sweetly, not in the least perturbed by his agitation. 'Tony, these people think very little of women. I can go check things none of you could. Ali did ask what I was doing, so I told him I was looking for a spot to hang a washing line.'

Tony choked back a snort of laughter. 'Don't tell me he went for it?'

'Of course he did. I'm a woman; it's natural for me to be interested in household duties. We even picked a spot together behind this locked storeroom just past the kitchen!'

'You wouldn't know what's in that room?' he inquired without much hope.

'It's empty. They stored food there during the time they used this place to supply the Mujahaden fighters in Afghanistan,' she explained.

His forehead crinkled in a puzzled frown. 'How…'

'I asked,' his mother said, stroking his cheek. 'Don't frown, sweetheart, it'll encourage the formation of wrinkles. How else can you discover something if you don't ask?'

Tony settled on the floor between her and his sleeping father. 'I didn't think he was Mujahaden.'

'He's not; he just supplied them during the war. He's far more religious, apparently. He belongs to the Taliban.'

'Mom, why would he possibly have told you that?' he wondered.

'Oh, I boasted about your grandfather's accomplishments in the Spanish Civil War,' she explained. 'Maybe I exaggerated about the harsh conditions he faced in the mountains slightly, but Ali felt the need to prove he's even braver. I thought you'd like me to discover as much as possible about him!'

Tony rubbed his face vigorously. 'I didn't know Grandpa went over to fight,' he muttered. 'Why didn't you tell me? I thought he was home collecting his antique coins.' He glared at Rita, the ferocity of his expression lost in the darkness.

'Don't frown at me, Antonio,' she whispered sternly, guessing at his reaction. 'Your grandfather felt very strongly about events back then and he used his own resources to get across, so well….'

'Well what?' he demanded, a headache beginning in his temple. 'Look mom, I had to undergo rigorous security clearances before I got into CTU. They questioned me about every kinda insignificant crap…'

'Antonio!'

'Sorry, mom. Insignificant event, I mean. They even brought Luis Torres up, asked what I felt about him. Why wouldn't they ask about Grandpa, then?'

Rita drew him towards her, smoothing out his forehead. 'Because they never knew he went across,' she said logically. 'Tony, he was accused of certain crimes… His own side, the Nationalists, asked him to leave! Uncle Roland knew someone who altered a few papers. As far as anyone is concerned, he never left the States!'

He shook his head in defeat. _Even Hammond, who looked into everything didn't know about that. He would've loved it!_ 'Just what exactly was Grandpa supposed to have done?'

Rita shook her head gently. 'He never told me, sweetheart, and I didn't try asking. He was always a fantastic father to me, and I was born long after he returned…I didn't want to know. Those people he massacred won't come back no matter how many times I could say sorry, so it's best left untouched. Right now we got more pressing problems of our own. Get some sleep, sweetheart.'

Tony lay on his back wrapped in the sheepskins, peering up at the moon through a crack in the ceiling. It was huge, lighting up the entire sky, reminding him of the times he had camped out in the desert during his military career. His heart ached for the warm camaraderie he had established with his platoon of snipers. Yet again he offered up a silent prayer for the safety of those few who had re-enlisted. His prayers turned to their own plight, begging God to offer them some miraculous rescue. The filth and lack of food were already weakening the crowd, though few were aware of it apart from him. His greatest fear was that by the time Michelle's leg would heal sufficiently to attempt an escape; malnutrition would have taken its toll on their health. He sighed, focusing on the moon, the same moon that would light LA a couple of hours later. Leaving one of his men behind was something that went against the grain for Tony Almeida, something he had never done in his entire history of combat. Leaving a civilian behind was too low to contemplate. _Better start planning how to carry some sick or injured civilians then, Almeida._

"_La luna. She's beautiful isn't she, m'ijo? A lovely lamp in the sky. She's faithful; she'll go with you wherever you travel. When you see her, you'll know you're not alone."_ He squeezed his eyes shut in a hurry as he was regularly forced to do whenever he remembered his father's father. _Why did you die, Abuelo? You weren't sick! You should be here with us – you might even be able to connect with these Stone Age nuts. If anyone in the world could speak to them, it would be you._ He wiped his eyes, glad of the anonymity offered by the darkness. _"There's a time for everything, m'ijo,"_ his grandfather had explained, sensing something on his final visit to the farm in Mexico. _"This is our time to spend together, to work and talk and then later we'll make time to rest. I'm going to rest soon now, but know that I will always be with you. You're a good person, Tony."_ He stirred restlessly, choking back a sob.

He would have a little discussion with his maternal grandfather on his return, he decided, if for nothing else than a burning desire to know what had happened. _"You got a lot of your mother's family in you, m'ijo. I could never command men…"_ Tony rolled over, pulling a loose piece of sheepskin over his head. _No, Papa. You wouldn't have said that if you knew about him! I hope you were thinking of the rest of them…_

'Will you stop wriggling,' Michelle mumbled sleepily, placing an arm on his stomach.

Tony kissed her, placing his head beside hers. 'Goodnight, sweetheart.'


	14. A Change Of Attire

It was eerily silent before the sun rose, the thick walls effectively muffling any sound from the outside world. Michelle slept beside him with her leg elevated, her breath warming his cheek. People snored all around him as he glared at the roof. Hours had passed since the group had settled; hours spent scowling at the darkness, his mind on his grandfather. _What the hell did you do in Spain, sir?_

Manuel Torres had never been what one could describe as an affectionate grandfather. Dressed impeccably at all hours, he had been distinctly unimpressed with his army of grandchildren, retreating to his study and effectively ignoring their visits. His life appeared devoted to his coin collection which he worked on daily. Tony had been forbidden to enter the study as his grandfather lived in daily fear that someday, one of his precious coins would go missing. Not stolen, no. His house was equipped with the best security money could buy and he owned a gun which he was fully prepared to use on any intruder. No, his coin collection's safety was threatened only from the inside, from those dreadful children who descended on his home to disturb his peace. His fears were not unjustified.

During a particularly dreary autumn both Marco and Rita had succumbed to the flu together with their youngest children, leaving Rita's parents the ungracious hosts to the ten year old Tony, eight year old Jane and six year old Marco who stubbornly eluded the infection. They had stayed in their mansion for an entire miserable week, nagged about their poor manners, forbidden to watch TV, and forced to remain indoors the entire time. The influenza was outside, their grandmother snapped when they had whined about playing outdoors. "I don't want to catch it. We're staying inside." And they had, the boredom eating away at them, until Jane came up with the bright idea one night, when their grandparents lay asleep, of playing shops.

"You need money to buy stuff," she'd insisted, preventing Tony from 'purchasing' a pillow case. "This shop is not a charity organization!" And Tony had found money, plenty of it, downstairs in the study, carrying a handful of coins back with him. They had played for the next hour, their voices rising in excitement until their grandfather appeared, thoroughly irritated, stopping in horror at the sight of his antiques scattered around his guest bedroom. Despite the hiding he gave his grandsons they failed to give him an accurate answer to his question of just how many coins they had taken. He had spent the remainder of that night sorting through his catalogues, coming up at dawn with one missing item, an ancient Minoan coin.

"Where is this one, Antonio?" he demanded, outraged. "That coin is the oldest one I own. It's worth more than your parents' house and car together!" Tears filled Tony's eyes as he stared at a picture of the missing coin, shaking his head.

"I haven't got it, sir." A second hiding followed after which they were bundled unceremoniously into his car and driven home, his grandfather insisting his parents recover that missing coin.

"I'm sure we'll find it, sir," Marco told him, a sobbing Tony clasped in his arms.

"You better!"

And they had, a fortnight later when Rita had taken them for a walk to feed the ducks and gave in to Anna's whining about an ice-cream. "Just as long as you kids returned all my money," she told them, aware of her offspring's tendency to raid her purse for coins to play with. Jane assured her all her money was back in the purse and she had bought them an ice-cream each, handing over an army of coins to a slightly irritated man.

"American money only," he snapped at the startled group, pushing a coin back at Rita. "This here is some foreign rubbish. I need another quarter!" Her fingers clasped the Minoan coin and she exchanged warm grins with Tony, who offered up a prayer of thanks, the label of 'thief' having been more than he could bear.

They had returned it that day, his grandfather replacing it in a case, unmoved at Rita's insistence that Tony hadn't deserved that final hiding.

"Oh yes he did. Set as much as a foot into this study again, Antonio, you'll regret it. You have no business among my things." And the chilly relationship had failed to thrive, his grandfather maintaining a steady indifference to their accomplishments.

_So what the hell did you do in Spain, sir? How many did you kill and how? No one was exactly big on human rights back then, so it must have been bad…_Unable to sleep and unwilling to disturb Michelle he lay awake in silent turmoil, drifting off a few minutes before dawn.

* * *

The clanging on the door woke them on the third morning of their captivity, the second confined to the camp. Tony rubbed the sleep from his face and sat up, pulling his towel round himself in a hurry. He decided his first priority better be collecting his clothes, wet or dry. He inched his way through the crowd and over to the well, unsurprised to find them as wet as the night before. Sighing in frustration he moved over to his deserted shelter and pulled them on, shivering in the icy wind. Sheer fury at his captivity pulsed through him; he worked off his rage by slamming his fist against the latrine wall with his full strength. A few pieces of dust slid from between the stones. Intrigued, he bent to examine the damage, jumping to his feet the moment footsteps approached.

'Tony, where are you? Breakfast is almost over. I got you a piece of bread with cheese. Your mom says it's not off, it's just goat cheese.'

'Goat cheese?' he replied, raising his eyebrows. 'Oh well, seems like we'll be tryin' all kinds of new things for a while. Was it edible?'

Michelle shook her head unhappily. 'No. Your mom says it can taste okay too, but they made it all slimy…' She attempted to run her fingers through her curls; her hands tangled an inch from her scalp. Face trembling with an emotion he read as sheer frustration, she yanked her hand out, cursing. 'There's NO WAY anyone can ever comb this out! Tony, I feel dirty. Your clothes are still wet,' she concluded, puzzled. 'You washed them.'

He nodded grimly. 'Yeah, but I don't recommend anyone else follow my example. I'm a little cold. Come on,' he said, leading the way back. 'Let's try this goat cheese.'

Judging by the slow rate of consumption and the odd expressions, he presumed the cheese would fail to make it to anyone's 'must buy' list. Settling on the floor with his back against the wall he took a tentative bite, spitting it into his palm seconds later. 'Uug.' Swallowing a few mouthfuls of the pale water that passed as 'tea' he raised guilty eyes to his wife. 'I can't.'

'Tony, you should eat everything we get. It's not enough to prevent us growing weak as it is,' she insisted in a whisper, casting a nervous glance at the surrounding passengers.

He nodded. 'You're right sweetheart,' he told her softly, an eye on the remainder of the crowd. 'Thing is, I'd struggle with this were Ali himself to hold a gun to my head. Without that…' He left the rest of the sentence unspoken, handing her the cheese. 'If anyone wants it, they're welcome.'

Michelle snorted, nodding her head in the direction of a metal can. 'You're kidding! Half the cheese is already in there!'

Tony ate his stale slice of bread, drank the 'tea' and threw the cheese into the bin. A shot startled him, causing him to jump. 'Dammit,' he muttered annoyed with himself. 'Come on honey, looks like Ali's got some pearls of wisdom to share with us all.' He was rewarded by a faint grin as he waited for her to join a few women before he followed at a more leisurely pace, taking a place at the opposite end of the crowd. Once again the fresh breeze blew through his damp clothes, raising goose bumps along his body. He pressed his arms tight against his stomach hoping to warm himself enough to listen to the speech without his teeth chattering.

Ali appeared to have something to say, waving his hand impatiently at the ground. 'Sit,' he snapped, waiting with a merciless expression while the crowd settled. Tony selected a spot beside the wall, knees drawn up to his chest behind an overweight man, managing to avoid the brunt of the wind. It appeared the terrorist's eyes sought him out in the crowd, held them for a moment and moved on. 'We're negotiating with your countries for your release,' he began, allowing a moment for relieved cries to echo from the crowd. Once again his eyes sought Tony's, who barely managed to pull an impassive mask onto his face. 'It looks promising, but it will take a little time. In the meantime, I'm going to set out a few rules for you people to follow. This is an Islamic Republic, and you will behave accordingly. Starting from today, the women will have separate sleeping quarters. When I've finished talking, you will collect your sheepskins and carry them over to that empty storeroom. Any man seen inside that room will be beheaded.' He paused for emphasis, allowing the horrified crowd to translate the word to those whose high school English had failed to cover the term. 'Let me assure you this is no idle threat.' He pulled out a sword previously concealed in his robes, brandishing it wildly through the air. 'It's a promise.'

Tony forced himself to remain as still as a statue, the only member of the group who managed it successfully. The terrorist's words instilled fresh fear into the crowd who had begun to accept their fate the previous day. They spoke among themselves in low whispers, watching Ali with the attention they would have reserved for a rabid dog.

Ali appeared satisfied with his new respect, eyeing them individually to assure them of his sincerity. 'All right, we understand this. Now to my second point.' Once again the crowd stirred, falling silent as he fired a shot in the air. 'You will listen in silence. Your clothes disgust me. They are a reminder of the decadence of your countries I would rather not have. Once I have dismissed you, you will form two queues, male and female, and pick more appropriate attire! Anyone seen without these clothes will be beheaded.' He eyed them as though seeking a protest, but none came.

_Gee Almeida, I wonder what crap he's brought us to change into? You can bet it won't be good!_

'Finally, idleness leads to immorality, which will not be tolerated here. You will be assigned tasks, see that you complete them. Anyone not working will remain beside their sleeping quarters. There will be no fraternization on the yard. I need three women to work in the kitchen.' His eyes searched the crowd and he pointed at an Australian woman. 'You, and you,' his finger stopped by Tony's mother, 'and you.' To his horror it pointed straight at Michelle. 'You will be responsible for cooking the food you will be pleased to hear I have managed to organize.'

_Oh God protect her. Michelle in a conventional kitchen is a disaster waiting to happen! Michelle in a Stone Age kitchen…Wonder what the penalty for burnt food is. Hopefully not beheading!_

Ali continued, assigning a few other women the task of washing the promised clothes, and cleaning their quarters, promising more work in the near future. He turned to the men, explaining that he was tired of seeing grass push its way between the slabs. They would remove it from the surroundings with the exception of the half of the yard he was assigning to the women. A load of stones were being delivered. He picked ten men at random, ordering them to the task of constructing a new wall to divide the group permanently. Tony shifted restlessly, hating the thought of not being able to keep his eye on his family. Ali made a few more threats as he noticed his last order aroused extreme dissatisfaction before turning to Marco. 'The kitchen is going to require plenty of water, Sombrero! As they no longer have access to the well, it will be your job to carry the water over to the door and leave it outside. Don't even think of trying to enter, or…' Marco narrowed his eyes in disgust.

'Got a problem, Sombrero?' Ali inquired, moving over the crowd to stand before him. Tony's heart skipped a beat as he noticed the man fingering his dagger.

Marco Almeida shook his head. 'No problem,' he said calmly, forcing himself to lower his eyes before the man would read his desire to wring his neck. _Keep it shut! So you've changed career from architect to water carrier, well, things could still be worse._ He wished Ali would leave, hating the stench emanating from the flapping robes.

'I'll be watching you, Sombrero! You seem to have picked up a poor attitude working so closely with Satan!'

Marco's eyes widened in astonishment. Whilst it was true he failed to see eye to eye with his boss on numerous occasions, the term 'Satan' was nevertheless harsher than he would use. _How the hell can he know what a pain in the ass Mr. Cresford can be? Oh shit, he doesn't! He's thinking of all Americans…_Anxiety for the safety of his wife and son crinkled his eyes. _This man is raving mad!_ 'I'll bring the water,' he agreed.

'You better. What was your profession, Mexican? You're not like any other Mexicans I knew.'

'I am an architect,' he said quietly, hating the attention.

'An architect! You design palaces for the…'

'No sir. I don't design houses, I design office blocks,' he interrupted, wishing to spare Tony further insults. A few more derogatory terms, and his son was fully capable of leaping to his feet and ramming Ali through with his own dagger. He cast Tony a warning look similar to the ones he had given him as a misbehaving toddler. _Keep quiet!_

'You design matchboxes?' Ali snorted in disgust. 'Well, see you bring plenty of water. You'll regret it if you don't, that's a promise.'

Marco let out an audible sigh of relief as he left. _Matchboxes? Well, a lot of people have problems with modern high rise buildings, but really…_

Ali moved to the front, pointing to a tiny room beside the 'bedroom.' 'Your clothes are in there. I want the women to get dressed immediately.'

* * *

Michelle shook her head for the third time, lips pressed into a straight line, a look of determination on her face. Rita Almeida watched her in surprise, never having witnessed her unbreakable resolve before. 'Honey, put them on. We all need a change of clothes.' Gently but firmly she placed the bundle she had picked out from the table into her daughter-in-law's lap. Experienced with all manner of refusal, she held a t-shirt in her hands. 'Put it on, dear. It's not as though we'll be here for long.'

'I can't,' Michelle muttered, staring at the dark top and faded black skirt in silence. 'They look horrible.'

'They're your size,' her mother-in-law insisted, practical as usual. 'It's not as though there's a choice in color, sweetheart. Everything here is black, grey, brown or dark blue. And all the skirts are long. Michelle,' she said a lot quieter, pretending to hand her something, bending down so her lips touched her ear. 'It would be inadvisable to make a scene, in your position. Get changed.'

_She's right, what were you thinking?_ Michelle stirred, never one to argue with sound commonsense. 'You're right, Rita. I'm sorry. I'm just so sick of everything, my hair's such a mess Tony would run for his life if he could get outa here, and my leg won't stop hurting…'

Warm hands ruffled her hair. 'I know, honey. I'll give you another aspirin once we collect our stuff. And you're wrong about Tony. He has his faults, they all do, but running out on someone is not one of them. He'll love you whatever your hair looks like. I'll talk to him about finding a comb. Need a hand?'

Michelle shook her head. She removed her clothes as slowly as she dared, pulling on the drab shapeless things they were all dressed in, feeling as though she had inadvertently stepped into a movie she had no desire to act in. Her own clothes were left in a large plastic bag together with everything else. She cast them a final lingering glance of regret as she hobbled to the door behind Rita. A second shock awaited her. Beside the door, piled on a chair lay a heap of black chadors. 'No,' she said emphatically as the first few women were attempting to fit into theirs.

This time she got no argument from her equally dismayed mother-in-law.

* * *

Tony rubbed his eyes, disbelieving the sight that met them as the women, previously finely dressed though a little disheveled after three days of wearing the same things emerged, all alike in identical black chadors, covered from head to toe. 'What the hell?' he gasped, his words fortunately blending in with cries of horror in several languages.

Ali waved his rifle a few feet from them and the women settled, disgruntled and ashamed. 'Alright, that's a whole lot better. Now let me warn you again, affairs will _not_ be tolerated round here. I see just one of you looking at a man, you'll be beheaded! Same goes for you,' he continued, focusing on the men. 'Do as much as look at one of them…'

'You're crazier than you look!' Marco exclaimed, the look of distress he noticed on his wife's face outraging him. 'Some of them are our wives…'

'And you'll get them back once your countries cooperate,' Ali replied coldly. 'Let me tell you they better do, or we'll keep the women…'

'Like hell you will,' Marco snapped. 'This madness stops now.' A loud supporting chorus ended abruptly as two men hauled him to his feet and dragged him over to Ali.

'I've had about enough of you,' Ali decided, glaring at him in front of the horrified group. 'You got to learn respect, Sombrero. Remove your shirt.'

The breath caught in Tony's throat as he attempted to rise, pushed back into place by a terrorist with a rifle. Marco's eyes met his, a slight shake of the head reminding him to hold his tongue for the sake of all their lives. Satisfied that they had the men under control the terrorists moved out of the crowd, training their rifles on them.

'That was foolish of you,' Ali said, shaking his head. 'None of you men will eat tonight. Try anything like that again, you'll share the punishment. Get over to that wall,' he ordered, shoving Marco before him to the 'bedroom,' where two hooks hung from the roof. Tony watched in horror as his father's hands were shackled to the hooks, his arms straining in their sockets.

_Keep it shut, Almeida. They're gonna hurt him, but they won't kill him. Keep silent or you'll all die…_He forced himself to remain on the floor, fists clenched beside him. The bile rose in his throat threatening to choke him a minute later as a terrorist returned bearing a whip. Michelle and his mother cast him horrified looks. Tony moved as close to them as he was able, shaking his head at them. 'You gotta sit tight,' he whispered, hoping they heard him over the restless muttering of the crowd.

Marco drew a deep breath, narrowing his eyes. His heart hammered uncomfortably against his ribs as the man approached, positioning himself a couple of feet behind him, legs apart. _Looks like you're in for a whipping. That's another new experience for you, one you could've done quite well without! You'll deal with it, and you'll do so in silence,_ he ordered himself, aware the slightest whimper would send both his wife and son flying to his rescue and their subsequent deaths.

The first blow cut through the air with a whoosh, adding to his fear, the blow slamming him against the stone wall, raising a welt across his unprotected shoulders. He gasped for air, drawing a deep breath as the second blow hit him above the kidneys. He tried remaining against the wall for the third blow to prevent his head slamming into it at full force, finding that his position made little difference. The force of the blows propelled him forward to matter how firmly he anchored his feet. By the fifth blow his skin broke, leaving a thin streak of blood on his back. Marco mouthed a silent prayer begging the punishment to end soon, terrified he would cry aloud.

Tony blinked back tears of rage, resolved to murder the man once he reached ten strokes, and damn the consequences. He attempted to catch a glimpse of his father's face in vain; dismayed he kept it turned away from them. Michelle and his mother clutched each other in desperation, horrified. Michelle's eyes met his, begging him to do anything to stop the torture. Once again he forced himself to shake his head at her. _Focus, Almeida. You've seen crap before. You've taken it before, yourself._ An eighth swish rent the silence, connecting with a sickening thud, churning his stomach. _Dammit, why Papa? He's the kindest man alive, he never hurt anyone._

Ali nodded his head at the man, ending the punishment with the tenth stroke. Tony drew a shaky breath, longing to rush to his father. Once again the thought of Michelle and his mother facing such treatment forced him to hold his tongue and remain on the ground, wiping the hatred from his eyes. Ali and that other man would pay for it dearly, if it was the last thing he ever did. He comforted himself with thoughts of ripping their throats apart with his bare hands.

'Remember this,' Ali warned them, eyeing as many of them as he could. 'Next time I have to speak to one of you, I will not be as lenient! You'll get double what he got! He will stand there for the rest of the day, reminding you all that I mean exactly what I say! Don't even think of approaching him. Now I want the women on this half of the yard, and the men on the other. Go and change,' he ordered harshly, waving his hand at the tiny chamber.

Tony rose with the others, risking a few steps towards his father. 'Papa,' he said softly, unable to walk past him without checking how he had coped.

Marco turned his head slowly, giving him another nod. Tony stared at him a moment longer before he turned to follow the rest of the group. He no longer harbored any illusions they might survive until Michelle's leg healed. She needed another week for the bone to set somehow, and then he would break them out, even if he had to carry her all the way out of the country.

* * *

Ali shook his head at the woman who walked past him; head held high and calmly drew a bucket of water from the well, carrying it right past him on her way to the Mexican. Removing her handkerchief, she dipped it in the bucket, wiping the sweat from his face. For a moment he considered disciplining her as well, but the mood of the crowd had altered. Not wishing to risk a bloodbath he let her be. The sun rose higher as Rita attempted to offer her husband what comfort she could, washing the blood from his back, numbing the wounds with the freezing water. Only Marco heard her words as she tended to him, whispering encouragement and begging him to refrain from further disobedience.

'You got it, querida,' he agreed, groaning under his breath. 'I'm getting too old for this! Next time I got a problem, I'll get myself a rifle!'


	15. Michelle's Plan

Michelle sat on a stool in the kitchen, her leg propped onto an opposite stool, blinking the last of the tears from her eyes. She had watched Marco's whipping in a rage second only to Tony and his wife's, longing to rush in and snatch the whip. She pictured herself lashing the terrorist with the same whip, righteous indignation preventing her from giving way to tears for the man who had first welcomed her into Tony's family. Blinking aside her tears she remembered their first meeting two years before, after Tony had followed a lead by himself and ended up with critical injuries in hospital. _She had slipped into his room before work the following morning after calling the hospital to make certain he remained in his coma, tiptoeing silently over to his bedside. _Her cheeks flushed as she relived the next few minutes -_ bending over her dearest friend, the man she was unable to stop fantasizing about, indulging her desire to brush the hair from his deathly pale face and kiss his forehead. "You gotta wake up, Tony," she'd whispered, her voice shaky as she saw just how many tubes were connected to him. "He will," a voice assured her from just inside the door. "He's tough." Horrified at having allowed someone to creep up on her unnoticed, she turned, noting a man who bore a striking resemblance to Tony. His eyes searched hers, his smile warm. "Marco Almeida," he introduced himself, extending his hand. "Tony's father," he added unnecessarily. She remained silent, her cheeks burning. "And you are?" he prompted kindly. "Just a colleague," she gasped out, fleeing the scene. Half dead of embarrassment she paused once she rounded the corner of the corridor, tempted to return and beg the kindly stranger not to breathe a word of it to Tony, but too ashamed to face him a second time. Shame won out, she slunk back to her car praying he would be decent enough to remain silent about her visit._

No, she had sat through his whipping dry eyed, sickened by the brutality, remaining dry eyed until Rita left her side and started bathing his wounds. Tears filled her eyes at the scene and she had been unable to stop them. Once they started, they continued unchecked, tears for the dead on the plane, tears for the unknown American woman and the heroic pilot, tears for Marco and tears for them imprisoned by such brutal men. Tony would be next, she just knew it. He was as proud and unable to overlook injustice as his father was, even more so.

'Michelle, it's going to be okay,' Rita told her softly, taking advantage of the momentary departure of the Australian woman. 'Marco's tough, he was raised on a farm. He'll have the scars for a while, but as long as no infection sets in, he'll be fine.'

'But they're leaving him tied up in the sun,' she protested, wiping a fresh batch of tears.

'It's not exactly warm. I'll take him some more water in the afternoon,' Rita decided, her eye on her distant husband. 'I'm more concerned about him catching a cold,' she admitted, wiping her own eyes. 'Hey, it's over. We got lunch to prepare.' She nodded her head at a large sack of potatoes, determined to distract herself from their dismal fate. 'You know how to peel potatoes, dear?'

Michelle shrugged, certain she could manage. How hard could it be, after all? She nodded, wishing she had brought her vegetable peeler from home, a useful tool for peeling the occasional carrot she'd put into sandwiches before she met Tony. She'd saved her fingers from several slashes with the knife she had attempted to use before one of her classmates with whom she kept in contact had sworn by the peeler. 'Yes.'

Saying yes to the ability to peel potatoes with a wicked carved knife and doing so were two separate things. The knife dug deep into the potato, removing a good half of it together with the peel. Cursing under her breath she dropped the third of it she'd salvaged into the bowl set before her, reluctantly reaching for the second one. The second and final one, it turned out. Determined to do better, she angled the knife horizontally, pulling the peel. Feeling it catch and not wishing to angle the knife again, she gave it a firm tug. The knife slipped from her grasp, cutting deep into her hand. A puddle of blood soaked the potatoes before her as she yelled out from shock.

'Dammit! Damn this place to hell,' she swore, covering the cut with her right hand.

Once again Rita slipped her arm round her, removing the hand to examine her injury. 'Don't move, Michelle. I'll find something to tie it up with,' she instructed, hurrying from the kitchen.

'I want to go home,' Michelle muttered as she sat by herself in the dingy kitchen. 'I just want to go home. I don't care if I never go on another vacation in my life!'

* * *

Tony laid his father onto the sheepskin, hovering over him anxiously. 'Are you okay, Papa?' he asked softly, noting the deep slashes covering his back.

'I'll live,' Marco remarked wryly. 'Weren't you supposed to clean out? You don't wanna annoy Ali, believe me!'

'I was just going,' Tony assured him, standing up. His father was in pain and obviously wished to rest. Kneeling down swiftly he glanced around, noting they had the room to themselves. 'I love you, Papa.' He hugged his father round the neck carefully, feeling a hand grasp his arm.

'I love you too, Antonio. Now get started, and I'll rest a bit.'

Tony pushed the mop around idly, his mind miles away. Dressed in the shapeless brown t-shirt he had been ordered to put on and a pair of baggy trousers he was relieved no one from CTU could see him. He wondered whether they were even searching for him or whether he had been given up for dead. Ali walked past, giving him a hard look and he was forced yet again to call on his reserves of restraint to prevent strangling him on the spot. _You'll pay for what you did, you bastard. My face is the last thing you're gonna see as you take your final breath, that's a promise!_ He turned his face away, shoving the mop back into the bucket.

'Ciao Giovanni,' an Italian called, stepping over the wet patches carefully. 'A horrible thing, this morning,' he continued, joined by a second man. 'Think they'll do it again?'

'Sí,' he replied bitterly, resuming his mopping with his back to them, unwilling to be drawn into a conversation.

'That Mexican is tough; I was expecting to hear him scream.'

Tony nodded in silence, splashing water about liberally.

'But they must have hurt him worse than he showed, coz he collapsed…'

'Donde?' he exclaimed, horrified.

They stared at him in silence. 'Dove, you mean. You're not Italian, are you?'

Tony chewed his lip, searching their faces. The chances of betrayal were slim, but he dared not risk it. 'Yes, I am, only we moved to Spain when I was a baby,' he lied, hoping they'd believe him. Leaving the mop, he hurried to the door.

'Your father is alright for now, I carried him back inside,' the first man told him, scrutinizing him.

Tony stared at them in silence, his brain struggling to come up with a suitable reply.

'Don't worry, we all know you're not Italian. You haven't spoken to any of us, and you look too much like the Mexican to be anything other than his son. You're American, I take it?'

Tony nodded silently. 'Keep that to yourself, would you?'

'Certamente! Look, you go to your father, he's in real pain. We'll finish up here.'

Tony thanked them and hastened back to the sleeping chamber, pushing through the crowd to his father's side. Kneeling down, he felt his father's forehead, relieved to find his temperature was normal. 'Papa, what's wrong? Where does it hurt?' he whispered softly, swallowing tears at the sight of his father in obvious agony. 'And don't gimme any crap about being alright!'

Marco turned his head to face him, wondering how much of the truth he could admit. 'It's quite uncomfortable, that's all. I was going to the bathroom…'

Tony helped him up, shocked at how slowly his father shuffled over the courtyard, frightened by his ragged breathing. He had appeared better during the previous hour. An icy dread knotted his stomach as he recalled his first aid training. _Were we on patrol, I'd be calling for the rescue chopper around now!_ He watched his father's face wordless, aware of the futility of further questioning. 'Alright, Antonio, I'm fine from here,' his father assured him, removing his arm from Tony's shoulder.

Tony nodded and leaned against the doorframe, determined to prevent anyone access whilst his father was inside. Something was wrong, his father was taking far longer than usual. Pushing himself off the doorframe he strolled inside, closing his eyes in disbelief at the pool of blood on the floor. 'Not so good Antonio,' Marco said lightly.

'It'll stop, Papa. They just got a kidney,' he whispered, longing to scream his rage and fear aloud. 'I'll get you back to the bedroom, you need to rest.'

* * *

Jack settled in the armchair he had been offered, his gaze taking in the family he had driven to speak to. Jo, the man who had answered the phone brought him a beer, waving his hand round the room. 'We're all here, Mr. Bauer. My sisters Anna, Rita, Jane and Maria,' he said, introducing them so rapidly he doubted he would remember any of them. 'You had something to tell us about our parents?'

'Yes I did,' Jack said, a stab of guilt slicing through him as he noted their hopeful faces. 'It's real important I speak to all of you. Are you all present?'

'Yeah, except my brothers Marco and Bob. They're in the Gulf, in the navy,' Jo explained. 'Mr. Bauer, where are our parents? We saw they shot one American on the news. What happened to them?'

Jack sighed. 'We don't know anything for certain,' he admitted, 'but there's a chance they're alive, assuming false identities. From the list of survivors we saw that everyone in the front and middle of the plane survived, while the dead were seated in the final few rows. Your family sat in business class… Among the dead we have a few unlikely survivors whose faces match the photos of the remaining Americans.' He paused while they cried aloud in relief. 'That's all we got to go with right now, but believe me we're doing everything we can to discover their whereabouts. What I need from you is complete silence. No interviews with the media, no mentioning this to friends, nothing. If they are alive and hiding, the last thing they'd need is information about their identity leaked and getting back to the hijackers.'

They nodded soberly. 'Mr. Bauer, we won't mention this to anyone. You've got our word on it,' one of Tony's sisters assured him. 'We haven't spoken to anyone so far either. Will you keep us apprised of the search?' she begged.

Jack nodded. 'You got my word on it,' he assured her, eyeing all of them in turn. His gaze took in the rest of the room, the walls covered by framed photographs of the large family, a box of toys along one wall, a guitar propped up in a corner.

'It's Tony's,' Jo said, eyeing him.

Jack nodded, feeling like an intruder in his friend's home. He had been invited to Tony's apartment a couple of times and shared several beers with him, but the short time he had spent in the family home had shown him an entirely different side to his friend. He was no longer amazed that Tony never failed to visit the place. Sweeping the room his eyes paused, drawn to a bullet lodged directly opposite him under a large clock. 'You had a problem there?'

To his surprise the Almeidas grinned at each other. 'Tony done that,' Jane explained smiling at him bashfully. 'Our cousins were here when he was around ten years old and they were playing gangsters. They had toy guns and kept firing at him. He went to get my father's gun to shoot back.'

Jack whistled aloud, shaking his head at the thought.

'No one got hurt,' Jo hastened to explain unnecessarily as the bullet remained in one piece letting him know it had hit nothing on its flight.

'Except for Tony,' Jane reminded him.

Jack blinked, failing to understand how anyone standing where his friend must have stood could possibly have been injured by a bullet that flew directly ahead and embedded itself permanently into a wall.

'Not from the bullet,' Jane explained seeing his puzzled expression. 'My father was furious!'

Jack grinned again, picturing the scene. 'And I thought someone got sick of the cuckoo clock,' he remarked. This time he joined them in their hearty laughter.

'It's actually the second one of those,' Anna explained, waving her hand at the clock. 'Bob shot the bird on the first one with an arrow. It never went back into the clock after that!'

'Tony tried to fix it,' Jane explained, wiping her eyes. 'It just hung in the air with an arrow through its head, but he couldn't get it out in time. My mom walked in…..'

Jack shook his head, envying his friend his entertaining family. 'Is that him?' he inquired, pointing to a grinning young man in naval uniform.

'No, that's Marco. Bob's right there.'

Jack settled back on the couch, strangely reluctant to leave the place after his dismal week. 'So Tony shot the wall and Bob shot the clock. And Marco?'

'He shot the neighbor's cat,' Jo explained merrily, pointing through the window. 'It stopped on our wall. He was just teaching Bob and me how to aim our arrows and he got that cat first time! My parents had to pay them a fortune for the vet bills!'

'And you shot…?'

Jo shook his head. 'I was a good kid. I only watched the others,' he sighed regretfully.

* * *

Marco stirred an hour before dawn woken by a numb ache in his lower back. The previous day's events rushed through his mind as he groaned softly. Putting out a hand he felt his surroundings for a tin mug, longing for a drink. His fingers brushed something warm and soft cuddled beside him, a head resting at the crook of his shoulder. He grinned in the darkness, noting it had been a long while since one of his children had spent the night cuddled so close to him. Shifting position gingerly so as not to wake Tony, he found his cup filled with cold water and drank it, straining his eyes to see his son. Tony's face was bitter, hard, a look he had rarely seen on him before, his knees drawn up to his chest for warmth. Guiltily he realized he had he been wrapped in both their sheepskins.

_How long were you up watching me last night, Antonio? Most likely all of it, by the looks of things._ Wincing, he pushed himself up and spread the sheepskin over them both, dismayed to feel how cold Tony's hands were. _You should know better than that, m'ijo. You never ignore your own needs before you take care of another!_ He felt his pulse, relieved to feel it strong and steady. It appeared he would survive the ordeal, though not without a loss of face. _What a weakling you turned out to be, Marco Almeida. A few blows with a whip and you're struggling for your life!_ Carefully he reached out to touch Tony's hands a few minutes later, checking whether they were a little warmer than before. As though sensing the touch, Tony stirred, waking within a second, fully alert.

'Papa?' he questioned, sitting up and reaching for his wrist. 'How are you? I want the truth, remember?'

'I'm a little better, Antonio,' his father assured him, marveling at the rapid wake-up, so unlike the teenage Tony who had had to be warned several times about getting up, even threatened with a loss of TV before he would stagger over to the breakfast table. 'How long were you watching me?'

Tony shrugged, his face turning red. 'I don't know. I meant to watch you all night. I'm sorry, Papa.'

'You've nothing to be sorry about,' his father assured him, hugging him. 'You're still cold, you couldn't have slept long. Half an hour max, I'd say.'

Tony yawned, clearly worn out from his long vigil. 'Two guys spoke to Ali, to get a doctor to see you. They wouldn't let me ask him myself, they said I'd kill him! They're right,' he added, his eyes taking in every detail of their surroundings. 'Ali refused point blank.' Once again his face turned hard as he wriggled out of the skin. 'Lemme feel your back, Papa.' Gentle fingers probed the injury. 'It's pretty badly swollen, but not more than yesterday.' He let a sigh of relief escape as he gave in to the urge to rub his eyes. 'You're gonna be okay.'

'Sure I am,' Marco replied confidently, his pride in Tony growing. 'Tony, it's just as well Ali didn't allow any doctor near me. Who knows what they're like round here? Come back under the blankets, it's freezing. Your mom will kill me if you catch a cold!'

Tony rolled his eyes, returning to the blanket. 'It is a little cold,' he admitted, shivering slightly. 'This place would be unlivable in the winter.'

Marco drew him closer, determined to warm him up. 'Get some sleep. I'm not going anywhere!'

Tony snorted, allowing exhaustion to claim him. 'You promise you'll wake me if you're sick?' he mumbled.

'You got it,' his father agreed, amused to feel the first even breaths on his cheek indicating his son had fallen asleep. He blinked to clear his eyes, touched by Tony's obvious love and concern. It was something he would remember for the rest of his life, making the whole ordeal almost worthwhile.

* * *

Michelle lay on her sheepskin in the last few minutes of what passed as peace, listening to the even breaths of the sleeping women and children. She drew a deep breath letting it out slowly, her eyes following a cloud of vapor. _Damn it's cold._ She gazed at her mother-in-law who slept soundly beside her, remembering the hours she had tossed and turned, clearly worried for her husband. She yawned, glaring at her leg. Tony had done a good job with the splint, it was held tightly and the bone had begun to set. If only she could hurry the process along somehow, aware that Tony would never risk an escape until she was mobile. She reflected on the irony of the situation, now that her leg was improving her entire left hand throbbed. _It's your fault, Michelle. Let's face it, you're hopeless. How could you be so careless with such a sharp knife…_She sat up, a frown on her forehead. _That knife WAS real sharp! It might even prove useful._ Pulling her tangled mess of curls into a pony tail with a rubber band she decided to stash it away in the kitchen and see whether it would be missed. Whatever happened, she would conceal it inside her clothes once it was given up as lost and somehow hand it to Tony. He had spent eight years with the Marines and if all else failed might manage to push it into someone, whilst she doubted whether she could.

She sighed aloud, pulling the greasy skin tighter about her to seek extra warmth. The separation from Tony was eating at her nerves. She resolved to catch a glimpse of him that day and remind him to keep away from Ali, and ask after Marco's health.

Loud banging reached her ears. Putting an eye to the crack she saw the terrorists open the men's sleeping quarters, seeing them file out a minute later. Breathless, she waited for Tony, watching him emerge at the back of the group, his father's arm round his shoulder. She frowned, noting how slowly Marco shuffled along. Turning, she shook Rita awake, pushing her over to the crack. 'They're up. Marco doesn't look too good.'

They watched the courtyard with sinking spirits.

* * *

'Take care, Tony! I don't want you to be the first person in this family beheaded!' Marco warned, as he saw his son rise to his feet after tucking him back in the sheepskin.

Tony threw him a nervous grin. 'I kinda agree with you there, Papa! I'll be careful, I just gotta see them,' he explained, hurrying back to the kitchen with a bucket of water. Glancing round rapidly he saw the terrorists congregated in a corner, eyes turned from the kitchen. Saying a quick prayer he pushed the door open a crack, noting his mother stirring a large cast iron pot.

'Mom,' he whispered as she reached for a cloth. She stopped immediately, staring at the door. 'Listen to me carefully. Papa was real sick last night, his kidney is bleeding but it's a little better this morning. He's gonna rest today and I'll do his jobs. How are you and Michelle holding up?'

'We're fine, sweetheart,' she whispered back, longing to hug him. 'Michelle cut her hand real badly yesterday. She's going to rest in the yard today. There's nothing she can do until it heals.'

Tony shut his eyes, wondering how he guessed it. 'Mom, you've gotta keep an eye on her,' he begged. 'She's not that good in a kitchen!'

His mother promised she would, explaining that with the broken leg and slashed hand there was little she could do anyway apart from stir a few pots. 'Ok,' he sighed. 'Just remember to watch her every second she's in here! She'll need it!'


	16. A Game Of Cards

The following four days dragged by at an infuriatingly slow pace. Enforced captivity and idleness took their toll and the passengers grew less willing to overlook each others' eccentricities. Small arguments broke out several times during the day, one ending with a minor scuffle between dedicated supporters of AC Milan and Juventus. Tony dragged them apart with difficulty, earning a punch for his pains. He rubbed his face in silence casting both protagonists a reproachful look. His restraint paid off. Their faces reddened and they mumbled abashed apologies to each other and him, walking off together, but it was a temporary reprieve at best. Things were bound to get out of hand soon, either with the captives or their keepers. More worrying than their annoyance with each other was the terrorists' growing antipathy towards them. Insults flew throughout the day, ever more vehement. A different nation was selected for special attention each day and the citizen of that country was yelled at and abused to the point of a slap across the face for the injured Canadian woman. He supposed the rage was a direct result of the countries' refusal to negotiate a deal.

Marco recovered within three days, wandering the yard in his usual manner, back straight and head slightly forward, deep in thought. He tolerated the insults he received with the air of a long suffering parent resigned to poor behavior, ignoring their captors as best he could. Maintaining a calm exterior, he was approached by several passengers in need of a sympathetic listener. Over the course of the week he had learned all their life stories, offering advice on a range of subjects from raising children to changing employment. He was generally considered a 'nice guy', by far the most popular member of the group.

Tony wandered the yard alone, examining every individual stone in the wall, studying the terrorists' schedules and fighting his rage at his detention. He had heeded his father's advice to settle down and chat to the group the day before, his father assuring him his citizenship was a secret from no one bar the terrorists. He had rubbed his face, aware his father was right, but unwilling to socialize while he failed to come up with a workable escape plan. He had nevertheless settled among them before dinner, joining in the discussion about the only topic that interested the entire group, football. Wisely he steered the discussion towards South American teams, as they were less likely to excite passion.

'What are you doin', Papa?' he demanded sharply, seeing Marco struggle to haul a full bucket from the well. 'You're supposed to be resting, remember!'

Marco shook his head. 'I'm fine now, Antonio. This was my job, right? I won't have you burdened with two.'

'I'm not exactly burdened,' Tony replied, attempting to remove the bucket. 'I got the whole day to sit around before I gotta clean out the latrines. I'll take the water.'

'Tony, I can do it now,' his father assured him. 'Sit down.'

'Like hell,' Tony snapped, his patience at an end. 'There's no way you would've recovered yet, it's impossible! Now gimme that damn bucket and go rest!'

Marco's eyes widened. 'Antonio, remember who you are speaking to,' he said calmly, his tone reminding Tony of the countless lectures he had received as a child. 'If I say I'm fine, then I am. Find yourself something to do.'

'Fine,' Tony snapped, glaring at him. 'Kill yourself if you want to, but do me a favor, right? Don't let mom see.' He stalked off, fists clenched; slamming it into the wall once he entered the men's room. _Why the hell is he so obstinate, dammit? What's he trying to prove?_ He scowled at the wall as though he considered ripping it apart bare handed.

'Let him take the water for a while,' the pilot advised, startling him in the silence. 'He needs to regain a little dignity. How do you think he felt, with all of us hovering over him?'

Tony rubbed his face, letting his breath out in a long sigh. 'You're right, Paolo. I wasn't thinking clearly.' He shut his eyes, sick of the entire day. _If you don't get to see Michelle soon, or hug her, you'll go nuts, Almeida!_

* * *

Had they possessed x ray vision, they would have pulled her over and removed the contraband, most likely beheading her once they done so. Even though she was aware they had no idea what she concealed beneath the chador she was unable to prevent her heart beating a little faster. Eyes lowered, she followed the other women in a group to the latrine.

'Your country appears to show a little interest in your fate, Kiwi,' Ali remarked, crossing the courtyard to join her. 'Some charity sent a box of medicines and a towel! You didn't tell me you require antibiotics for a chronic lung infection.'

Michelle remained silent, eyes lowered.

'Come and see the box, anyway,' Ali ordered, nodding his head at the kitchen. She took a deep breath and followed him back, her fingers brushing the knife. After the dismal week they had all had, she felt she might even be able to stick it into him should he try anything.

Ali, however, was a devout Muslim. Nodding in the direction of the kitchen he waited outside while she entered and collected the box, noting it contained several packets of antibiotics, aspirins, blood pressure tablets and rolls of bandages as well as a warm pink towel. It appeared Grace Rowe had been a person burdened with extremely poor health. She lifted the box, thankful for small mercies until her eye fell on the packages. "Made in the U.S.A." was marked clearly on each packet of medicine. Tears filled her eyes while a pang of hope rushed through her. _They know we're alive._

* * *

'An Islamic charity group signed for the box,' the New Zealand embassy official informed Jack. 'They assured me she would receive it later today.'

Jack sighed in relief. The week had been trying with little activity beyond the disappearance of his friends to focus on. Alberta Green showed up half an hour early every morning and worked till late, monitoring and annoying Tony's staff. He had spoken to several of them privately in the rec. room asking for their continued support for Tony, but all the goodwill in world wouldn't keep them at CTU for much longer if Alberta continued her haranguing ways. 'You got a name or address?' he questioned.

'Of course,' the New Zealander replied, supplying him with both. 'Let me know if you need anything else, Mr. Bauer. My government is willing to cooperate to the fullest extent with this mission. They are responsible for the death of one of our citizens.'

Jack thanked him and hung up, smiling at Gael and Chase who waited with bated breath. 'Looks like we got the medicines through. It should keep them going for a while, at any rate. Now if only they would manage to place that package outdoors, so our birds would have a chance to see it!'

'Tony will do it,' Gael said, eyeing them both as though challenging them to differ. 'He'll know what's going on.'

* * *

Michelle slipped the knife into the darkest corner of the room against the wall, knowing Tony would discover it as he cleaned the place. Kneeling on the floor as though undressing she wrote a swift note above it with red stone, informing him they were fine, the knife was his, and of the arrival of the box. Once she finished she hurried over to the other women, washing in the freezing water that no amount of exposure would make less unpleasant. Once again she wished for a hairbrush.

* * *

Tony lifted the knife in his hands, drawing a deep breath. _Whew. Well done, sweetheart, you're something else! Now if only you could write me something._ He knelt down above the spot, straining his eyes, unprepared for the message. Reading it aloud twice he chuckled, rubbing it off with the mop. "Sweetheart, check that box. If possible, bring it here. I also need you to leave that pink towel. Thanks for the gift. Keep going, it won't be much longer." He hoped Ali would fail to see it.

Returning deep in thought he was pressed into playing a game of cards with a bored group moments after he stashed the knife deep inside his sheepskin. He nodded, settling on the floor beside his father. 'Ok, but I got nothing to lose except this crap,' he waved a hand at his drab attire. 'You're welcome to it!'

'Oh no, we got our own,' Paolo cried, dealing the cards swiftly. 'Homeless people dress better in Italy.'

'Sí, you'd find better in any rubbish dump,' a mechanic informed him proudly.

'I'll bet,' Tony agreed, casting a glance at his father from the corner of his eyes. _We talking yet, Papa?_

Marco Almeida remained focused on his cards, effectively ignoring him. Tony sighed, placing his hand over his father's arm. 'I'm sorry, okay,' he said, meeting his eyes. 'I was outa line.'

'No, m'ijo, you don't have to apologize. You helped me though it, and a doctor has the right to speak harshly to an obstinate patient!' He grinned at his son.

Tony grinned back, relieved. He hated nothing more than quarreling with family members. 'Alright, Papa. Let's teach the Italians how to play cards!'

* * *

Tony winced as Paolo held up his full deck, conceding defeat for the fifth time that evening. His father shrugged and stretched. 'That's it for me. I'll just watch,' he decided, leaning more comfortably against the wall.

'Gimme a minute,' Tony told them and hastened inside, emerging with a sheepskin which he placed behind his father's back. Marco stared at him for a moment before nodding his thanks. Relieved, he settled back to the game, determined to win back the pile of rags they had lost so dismally, as determined as though payment had been demanded. 'Alright, deal. I'm gonna win my stuff back this time,' he insisted, generating loud laughter and much head shaking.

'No you won't. I like these things, I refuse to part with them,' an electrician insisted, raising louder laughter from the group. 'We're gonna walk past the Coliseum wearing them!'

A shadow fell across the full deck Tony laid on the ground a while later. Frowning, he glanced upwards, meeting the outraged Ali's eyes. _Oh boy. Something's pissed him off again, for a change! Wonder who did or didn't do something this time!_

'Stand up,' Ali ordered, harshly. 'Now,' he yelled, grabbing the nearest Italian by the hair and slamming him into the wall. 'I want those cards. Gambling is a sin! Gambling is not tolerated in an Islamic Republic! You choose to ignore our laws! You will be very, very sorry. Get moving.' He pointed towards the locked building behind the kitchen he had been unable to explore. 'You too, Sombrero.'

'He wasn't playing,' Tony said hurriedly. 'He was only watching.'

'Committing a crime or simply watching others do so makes little difference. Get moving, Sombrero!'

'Sir, nobody was gambling. We were just playing a game, that's all. I can guarantee that none of us have any money,' Tony insisted. 'Playing games is not unlawful…'

'Shut it, Spaghetti. I'm growing REAL TIRED of you,' Ali yelled, giving him a vicious shove towards the kitchen. 'Get moving.'

Surrounded by armed militants they were herded across the courtyard, Tony risking a quick glance at the kitchen. He was rewarded by Michelle's horrified face peering out at him. He held her eyes as long as possible before they were marched past and stopped before the locked room. One man produced a key and unlocked it, holding the door wide open. Ali grabbed Tony and forced him against the wall, slamming his head into the cold stone. 'Clothes,' he demanded.

They stared at him uncomprehendingly. 'Strip,' he repeated, slamming Tony against the wall a second time to emphasize his orders. They obeyed unhappily, herded into the room in their boxers. 'Alright, you can stay there. You WILL NOT pollute my country!' The door was slammed on them, leaving them in pitch darkness.

'Hey, Ali, what about our bucket?' Tony yelled, having noted the empty room as he entered. 'We need one!'

No one replied. Straining his ears, he heard the departing footsteps. He turned slowly, his eyes meeting only blackness. His training kicked in as he identified the position of each man by their breathing.

'I'm sorry,' the pilot said softly. 'I didn't know the cards would upset him.'

'Not your fault,' Tony assured him. 'We can't be expected to keep everyone's rules in mind.' He settled on the icy floor, folding his arms. _How long does that nutcase plan on keeping us here? Hopefully he'll calm down in a day or so. It's gonna be a little cold tonight. _

The night was the worst since their arrival in the compound. The temperature so high in the mountains dropped rapidly once the sun set. Left without protective clothing or blankets they huddled together for warmth, cold and hunger keeping them awake. A dismal attempt at conversation failed shortly before dawn, each man struggling with his own survival. Tony shut his eyes, feeling his father breathing beside him, recalling a similar occasion he had listened in silence to those same breaths.

'_Think he'll remember?' his younger brother Marco asked him anxiously. __Tony shrugged, his eye on the key so tantalizingly within reach. 'We could go get it,' he suggested, glancing out of the window to where his father was safely occupied clipping a_ _bush. Without further thought he stood on tiptoes and took the cellar key, unlocking it. Breathless with excitement Marco followed on his heels. Tony pulled the door shut and turned on the light, glancing round the cellar rapidly. It was neat, furnished as an office with an additional couch and reading lamp surrounded by bookcases. Their father had commandeered the cellar as his only escape from his numerous offspring, forbidding any of them to enter on pain of death! The boys searched the room rapidly, Marco discovering the toy robot they sought. Their father had removed it the day before, telling them that as they were unable to share, neither would have it. 'I got it. We should take him back to the space station.' Tony nodded, halfway up the stairs when his sharp ears picked up the sound of the front door opening. He shook his head warningly and fled noiselessly downwards, narrowly avoiding a collision with the terrified Marco. Placing a finger on his lips he slipped behind the couch, his brother tight against him, the robot on top of them. 'Think he'll come down?' Marco whispered. 'Nah,' he'd replied wrongly. The next moment the door opened and his father emerged, beer in hand, settling at his desk to finish his latest design. The boys remained where they were, not daring to move a muscle, avoiding each other's gaze, successfully concealed until Marco failed to contain a sneeze…_Tony grinned, remembering his father's annoyance as he hauled them out, removing the robot._ 'This is the office,' he told them sternly, obviously considering spanking them both. They apologized humbly, Tony praying he wouldn't forbid them to watch TV for the week. 'But since you came in…' His father's eyes lit up and he produced two sheets of paper, handing one to each boy, together with a couple of books Tony hoped never to set eyes on again. 'You can work through these sums.' He opened the books, choosing a page for each of them, nodding at the couch. 'Make yourselves at home!' _Unsurprisingly, his sanctuary remained inviolate ever since, Tony avoiding the place to the present day.

He grinned faintly in the darkness remembering they had needed something from there 2 months ago, and he had casually suggested Marco go collect it_. The young lieutenant home to celebrate receiving a medal for outstanding valor gazed at him unhappily. 'Downstairs? In Papa's office? Why don't you go get it, Tony?' He'd shaken his head. 'Nah. We'll wait.' In the end it was their sister who volunteered to go, shaking her head at them. 'Look at the pair of you! A Federal Agent and a naval officer, scared to go into a cellar!' Marco had stirred, fixing her with a lazy grin. 'Hey, it wasn't you sitting there doing sums for an entire afternoon. I still have nightmares about it!' _During the coldest part of the night he huddled close to his father feeling an arm wrapped round him.

The following day taxed their endurance to the limit. Confined in the darkness without food or water they were left with little else to occupy themselves with than speculating as to their probable release time and Ali's biography. 'He's American,' Tony predicted. 'Either that, or he was real young when he arrived. By that I mean real young, his accent is flawless. And another thing. He's smart. Don't underestimate him.'

The day passed at last without relief from the darkness and stench, a back corner having been mutually agreed upon to serve their needs. Once again they spent the night huddled together, hunger making them less resistant to the cold. Tony knelt down in the middle of the night, praying to be released the next morning.

* * *

The car wound its way up the mountains on one of the few passable roads driven confidently by a driver well used to the terrain. He drove over to the compound, hooting impatiently as the door was opened. Michelle stared at him from her seat by the kitchen window, watching Ali rush to embrace him. 'Hassan. You came.'

'Sure I did. You finally done it brother, just like you promised!'

'Lying is a sin, Hassan you should have known I would do my sworn duty. Did you see the aircraft?'

'Yes, I drove over to it. Those people got plenty of stuff.'

'Don't touch it Hassan. It'll contaminate these villagers. Why would they need silk or linen? How's the media taking our demands?'

Hassan shrugged, smoothing his hair with a hand on which a thick gold ring sparkled. 'Officially, we're not even on the news. Unofficially, the Americans are running scared. I'm surprised you failed to break the agent yet.'

'What agent?' Ali inquired, quieter.

A sick feeling spread through Michelle, her body shaking as she leant closer to catch every word.

Hassan laughed aloud, clasping Ali on the shoulder. 'You don't know it! Ali, you went fishing for cod, and caught a shark. You got the director of the Los Angeles Counter Terrorism Unit right here, an Antonio Almeida. He's got access to just about every piece of classified intel in the U.S. and you know what else? His wife and parents are here too!'

'I don't recall the name,' Ali mused, frowning at his brother. 'The only Almeida I got is a Mexican.'

'Yeah, that's the father. Line them up and I'll point him out to ya. You see, it's worth it after all, having Hanifa working as a translator. Every dollar we spent on her will be paid back, and more!'

'The Mexican is one of a group being taught a lesson. I'll get them. If he's the father, then presumably the son is with him as well.' Ali produced a key and inserted it into the lock, opening the door. 'Out,' he snapped.

Michelle watched, each breath forced out through her trembling body as the men stumbled out, hands flung over their faces to shield them from the brightness. They looked pale as they stood disoriented, swaying in the fresh wind. She sensed their discomfort, longing to boil them all hot tea, her heart sick at the upcoming drama.

'Get in a line,' Ali ordered, removing the safety on his rifle. It had the desired effect of moving the men into a single row, blinking. 'Hands by your sides. Heads up. Hassan?'

Hassan moved along the row, peering at each man as they studied the new arrival. Something in his eyes filled Tony with dread before he reached him. _He's Ali's boss. He's here to start ordering executions. It's been eight days now…_The new arrival paused before him, his fingers under Tony's chin. 'Lift your head up, agent Almeida. We got so much to discuss!'


	17. Uncertainty

Nobody had ever described the sensation of blood freezing in his veins while his heart hammered at twice its customary rate. Nobody had ever described lungs fighting for air on dry land. Sick with dread, Tony gazed at Hassan, shaking his head. 'I don't know what you're talking about.'

'Quit playing games, Federal Agent,' Hassan replied fully prepared for his denial. 'Got anyplace we can chat undisturbed?' he asked Ali.

'We do in the village, but not here,' Ali told him. 'I'll get his family.'

'No, wait. I think he'll be a little keener to speak to us without his family's presence,' Hassan said, smiling icily at his captive. 'Isn't that true, Mr. Almeida? Cooperate with our enquiries and you'll get driven back to them. Fail to cooperate; there'll be no one to return to! Put him in the car.'

Two men grabbed Tony, tying his wrists together with a wire, shoving him towards the car the moment he was secured. He turned to glance at his horrified father, nodding his head at the kitchen window. 'Take care of them for me, Papa. Get them outa here now,' he begged in Spanish.

'What did you say?' Ali demanded outraged, kicking him in the back of the knee.

Tony remained tight lipped as he was shoved into the car between two militants. 'Wait a minute,' Hassan said, eyeing him distrustfully. 'The guy is a federal agent. He's not secure enough.' He reached forward, slamming his rifle butt into Tony's head.

The world went dark._ Focus Almeida, focus. You cannot afford to lose consciousness now; you gotta get back here for Michelle._ Ignoring the nausea as best he could he watched the road beneath his eyelids, struggling to keep track of their journey. Ali drove rapidly down the mountain track, the road's constant zigzag proving more than he could bear. _We're gonna crash down the cliff…_By some miracle they arrived safely, parking outside a solid stone building. Ali said something he failed to understand and he was hauled out by his arms, his legs dragging over the unpaved surface.

He noticed the building lacked a yard as he was dragged over to a solid wooden door which another stranger unlocked. The building was not unique, all surrounding buildings opening onto the street. A few hard eyed men entered after him. Glancing round furtively beneath lowered eyelids he noticed they stood in a room illuminated solely by a narrow window set high into the opposite wall. A desk stood beneath it taking advantage of the solitary patch of light from the street, a metal chair behind it. The room's furnishing was completed by two orange plastic chairs in the corners. Tony remained silent, hoping to be spared his 'talk' with Hassan as long as he could. His tactics worked. Ali snapped an order and he was dragged across the room without any regard for his well being and thrown into a second chamber that opened beside the desk.

Wrists secured by the thin wire, Tony was unable to prevent his fall, his head connecting with the stone with a sickening thud. His valiant efforts to remain conscious failed to work the second time. He sank into the beckoning darkness.

* * *

'Tony won't tell them anything,' Michelle insisted with absolute certainty, her voice shaking. 'They're going to kill him.' A thousand scenarios ran through her brain, each of them dismissed as unrealistic. There was no way she could break out of the heavily armed compound and rush to his rescue with a broken leg. _Concentrate, Michelle. Tony's in serious trouble and you're the only one who can get him out of it. Think!_ She ran her hands as far as she could in her hopelessly tangled curls.

Rita looked up from the floor she had fixed her eyes on half an hour before. 'Tell me what you're thinking, Michelle. Whatever plans you have, I'll go along with them. I'm _not_ going to allow anyone to hurt Tony!'

'Rita, we're locked in,' she groaned, waving a hand at the door of the storeroom in despair. The stench made her gag as she eyed their narrow confines in increasing desperation. 'We _can't_ get out! Don't you think Tony would've gotten us out by now if it were possible?'

'I'm not so sure,' Rita replied, her fingers running over the surface of the stones in an attempt to discover a weakness. 'Your leg is not well yet.'

Michelle drew a sharp breath, her stomach heaving. 'You think Tony would risk the safety of the entire group to give my leg time to heal?' she questioned incredulously. 'He's a trained agent; he knows the lives of a group outweigh the life of an individual…'

'Oh, he's aware of that, alright,' Marco assured her, slipping his arm about her. 'It's not real easy to get past all those armed men, sweetie, they got about two for every one of us. I know he was planning an escape, but he had no workable idea yet.' He squeezed her hand, his heart aching. _And even if he had, he'd have delayed it till you were better, Michelle. Tony would NEVER abandon you._

'You don't think he delayed an escape because of my leg?' she begged, fighting to keep what threatened to be a flood of tears at bay.

A long silence greeted her words. 'No, sweetheart,' Rita said finally, her lie fooling none of them. 'He'd have carried you.'

'I've never seen him as happy as during this last year,' Marco added gently. 'When that woman left him, what was her name?'

'Nina,' his wife supplied.

'Nina. I thought he would never recover. He was devastated. He kept blaming himself for failing to notice her actions; he's always set himself a higher standard than the rest of us. But I think there was more to it than that. All his girlfriends left after a while… I guess he figured no one would ever want him. We tried everything we could think of to cheer him up, we tried to invite all our friends' daughters, but he was broken. And then, a year later, once everyone except Rita had given up hope, we noticed an old sparkle back in his eyes.'

'Did you ask him about it?' Michelle questioned, her heart in her throat.

'No, Michelle. We were just so glad to see him heal we resolved to give him a little space, however hard that was. And God it was hard. We had to remind ourselves of our decision every night.' He paused, adding quieter. 'And look how well it worked out.'

Michelle shook her head in despair. 'It worked out disastrously. He stayed to give me time to heal and now he's going to suffer. I'm responsible for whatever they'll put him through.'

They interrupted her, assuring her it was nothing like that. Tony simply had not yet figured out a suitable escape plan. He would have set it in motion the very moment he had done so. 'He's dependable, Michelle, he always was, even as a toddler,' Rita assured her. 'I remember one morning we were rushing more than usual – everything seemed to go wrong to slow us down and my mother phoned to announce she was on her way to visit us. You know my mother, how perfect everything always has to be for her?'

'Yeah,' Michelle replied, shuddering. Rita's mother was the only one of Tony's family she disliked, hated really if she was honest, a feeling shared by Marco.

'Well, I was already stressed out, and Janey needed a diaper change right then, and I think I told Tony something about preparing for a long lecture from Abuela as the kitchen was full of dishes. He just looked at me, one eye on the TV. I took the baby upstairs and when I returned, where do you think I found him?'

'I don't know,' Michelle answered intrigued, wondering where the three year old Tony could have been.

'He was standing on a chair in the kitchen before the sink, the bowl full of washing up liquid doing the dishes! He was so adorable, one sleeve pushed up, the other soaked to the elbow. He'd worked through quite a pile of them. He looked at me and told me not to worry. "We'll be ready, mommy. You sweep up!"' Tears filled Rita's eyes as she settled against her husband. 'I'm so scared, Marco.'

Michelle leaned against the wall, exhausted. 'He wanted me to give him the package I received with the medicines,' she remembered. 'We wrote each other notes in the bathroom. I didn't have a chance to do it. Thing is, I can't figure out what he wanted the things for. They were all medicines, and a fluorescent pink towel. None of those bottles had a tracking device, I checked. I'm sure Ali would've checked too.'

Marco frowned in silence, mulling over her words. 'What did he ask for in particular?'

Michelle blushed. 'The towel, when he discovered it was pink!'

'And it was bright pink?' Marco muttered, chewing his lip in the darkness. 'Could be seen from a mile away, if one were looking? It's not as though anyone round here owns anything pink! Anyone walking in the hills…'

'Oh my God,' Michelle exclaimed, throwing a hand over her mouth. 'He was planning on sticking it up somewhere. It could be noticed by satellite. I'll do it as soon as they let us outa here!'

* * *

Tony awoke cold and cramped, thoroughly disoriented in the complete darkness. His half formulated wish to sit up was prevented abruptly by an inability to use his hands. He frowned, wriggling his fingers to discover the thin wires binding his wrists together. The wire cut into his flesh as he struggled to loosen it, causing him to swear aloud. 'Dammit.' A sticky liquid trickled over his palms as he sucked air through pursed up lips. 'Ow.' He wriggled round, rising onto his knees with difficulty, turning to survey the unrelenting darkness. Not a sliver of light served to indicate the presence of a door. _Focus, Almeida. They threw you in here real hard, there's GOT to be a door. Go find it. _His heart beat faster as he struggled to his feet and took a step forward, slamming his head into a solid stone wall. He yelped, instinctively lifting his hands to rub the spot, only to yell again as the wire dug deeper into his flesh. _Gee, Almeida, you're in real big trouble again!_

Walking slowly round the wall he discovered the door, solid steel and cold to his touch. Tony turned round, running his fingers over every inch of the lower surface in the hope of discovering a weakness. _Admit it, Almeida. You're trapped!_ He sank down in the middle of the room, despondent. It appeared he was to remain where he was until a terrorist chose to question him. He shivered in fear, dreading what awaited him.

* * *

Alberta paused, bending over Adam's console, her eyebrows knit in a frown. 'What are you working on?' she inquired in a sugary tone, a hint of steel beneath it.

'I'm monitoring satellite images from Pakistan,' Adam admitted reluctantly, wishing she would leave.

'I can see that,' she replied, her breath warm on his hair. 'What I don't quite understand is why! Who authorized you to conduct that search?'

'I'm sure Tony would appreciate every bit of assistance we can provide,' Adam replied, nervous.

'I'm sure he would, were he alive. Tony's dead, Adam. The sooner you accept that the sooner I'll see your full potential at work. Right now I am unimpressed. I suggest you get on with the task I assigned you if you wish to remain at CTU.'

'I'll get onto it,' Adam assured her; clicking the toolbar to open the page of monitoring a possible hostile group she had assigned him the day before.

'See that you do,' Alberta replied, walking further. 'Ah, Gael.' Her smile broadened as she noticed him busy on the list she assigned him to complete. 'Nice to see someone round here working! Have you seen anything on those sat. feeds yet?'

Gael failed to blink. 'What sat. feeds, Alberta?' he inquired innocently. 'I'm checking internal revenue documents.'

'Just like I asked, ah?' she asked sweetly.

'Yes Alberta, just like you asked,' he replied evenly.

'See that you do so. I'll tell you now you'll find nothing further on those sat. feeds. Every village looks identical; we've no way of knowing where they took Tony and Michelle. They're bound to be dead by now anyway. Division is impressed with your record.' She smiled at him sweetly. 'See you cooperate and I'll put in a good word for you. We're looking for a replacement for Michelle!'

* * *

They continued their conversation in the unknown tongue, their voices rising and falling. Tony, who had shuddered when the outer door was unlocked to admit them, had sunk into despair as the first hour had passed without anyone checking on him. He longed to pound on the door and yell at them to free his wrists but the thought of what they had in store for him kept him sitting on the floor in silence. Neither his name nor nationality was mentioned in the ceaseless conversation. Effectively ignored, he decided it was best to wait it out. Tony was not patient by nature; forbearance had been drummed into him in the Marines.

_Sweat trickling down the back of his shirt he waited; concealed behind what had to be the world's prickliest bush. As luck would have it the sun shone from the exact same angle as the hut they were supposed to monitor, blinding him as he struggled to keep it in his peripheral vision. There were hostiles within according to the latest intel - hostiles whose questioning was vital. The point was, it was necessary to capture them in secrecy as they left the hut without alerting the remaining terrorists within. They were to leave freely and be picked up a little further down the road. The only glitch in the plan was their marked reluctance to emerge and get captured._

_Tony rubbed the sweat burning his eyes and cursed aloud, resolved to deal with his classmates who had the fortune to be cast as the hostiles. 'Dammit, come out. You KNOW we're out here in the sun waiting for you. This isn't funny anymore.' He imagined them sipping ice cold sodas inside laughing at their group. The thought of wringing their necks crossed his mind as the hours wore on._

_Tony cast a questioning glance in the direction of their instructor as he came to check their progress an hour later. 'Sir, permission to storm the building with CN gas and take them out,' he begged. His request seemed more than reasonable considering their dismal circumstances. The instructor, however, who had recently emerged from the air conditioned comfort of an observation building failed to sympathize with his misery. _

'_Permission denied. You have your orders, see that you follow them!'_

'_Sir, if I may ask why?' he pleaded, slapping at yet another sand fly. The satisfaction he felt as he gazed at its inert body faded at the annoyed expression on the instructor's face. _

'_If we're fortunate they might be joined by fellow hostiles. I don't need to tell you the more we capture the clearer our understanding of their plans will be. Take this as a lesson in patience, Almeida!'_

'_Yes sir,' Tony agreed, burying the dead insect an inch deep in the burning sand, 'but won't you please order them out now. It's a little hot!'_

_The instructor's eyes narrowed. 'I'll see you in my office this evening, Almeida,' he said, leaving without another word. _

_Tony lay on the ground and cursed under his breath. 'Great, just great! What the hell…' He rubbed his right hand absentmindedly, horrified to discover an army of red ants crawling_ _over it, an army that had been disturbed by his kind deed of burying the fly. He inched backwards in desperation aware he could only move so far before he became visible from the hut. Pools of sweat poured down his face._

_The door opened around three in the afternoon and a fellow officer candidate who bore him genuine animosity emerged with an icy can of soda. 'It's beer,' he called, his eyes searching the terrain. As though drawn together by mutual hatred their eyes met as he focused on the bush, raising his can in a mock salute before sipping it. 'Ah, that feels better.' He drank slowly leaning against the building while Tony struggled against his growing rage. 'This is not fair. They're aware of the objectives of this exercise. They're supposed to come out now!' Once the can was drained to its final drop he tossed it towards the bush, hitting Tony on the head. He chewed his lip, his temper aroused. 'Having fun, Almeida?'_

_Fists clenched, eyes narrowed, Tony lay on his stomach, forcing himself to remain concealed. 'Don't blow it, Almeida. They're coming out soon now, they're getting bored. Sit tight!'_

'_I'm going back inside now,' his classmate continued, smiling in his direction. 'You're welcome to the last few drops. Boy it's hot out here! Must turn the fan up!' He waved at the hidden group, frozen the next second as a 'bullet' struck him._

_Ears burning Tony emerged from the instructor's office wondering apprehensively just what he had meant by concluding his lengthy lecture with the ominous words "You need to exercise patience, Almeida. I'll see you'll get plenty of practice to learn the meaning of that word!" He had kept that promise._

After a second hour spent listening to the incomprehensible discussion he changed position, leaning against the wall in a corner. It was obvious they intended to keep him for they were in no hurry to interrogate him. That left him with his greatest fear confirmed – no one appeared to be remotely interested in searching for them. _It's not as though you didn't already know that, Almeida. _His heart sank as the minutes passed. _Someone knew you were on that plane…That intel wouldn't have come from the U.S. government…There's another mole…_

He sank into a fitful sleep gathering his strength for the inevitable ordeal that awaited him. His general exhaustion was matched only by his gnawing hunger as a second day passed without either food or water. He awoke with a start hours later at the sound of a lock snapped back. Dim light flooded the cell, causing him to squeeze his eyes shut. Footsteps moved to the center of the room and something was laid on the ground with a clank. He forced his eyes open and studied his captors. Both men appeared hostile, sporting neatly trimmed beards, dirty shirts and rifles, one of which was pointed at his head. The man who had set the plate on the floor took a step towards the door as he rose.

'My hands. Please could you untie them, I can't eat like this.' He turned carefully, kneeling with his back to them. 'Please,' he repeated, straining his ears.

Footsteps sounded across the cell and the man approached, kicking him viciously. Tony gasped from the pain as he toppled forward, his face slamming into the cold stone floor. They left, locking the door while he took shaky breaths. It took another minute of steady breathing before he was able to roll over and struggle into a kneeling position rubbing his back with his fingers. The sharp pain of the wire cutting into his wrists as he moved them soon forced him to give up. _Focus, Almeida. They're terrorists, what did you expect? Find the food and try to get as much of it inside as you can, you'll need it!_ He inched towards the door, his knees tensed for the slightest obstacle. Once he located the plate he lay on the ground and attempted to lap up some watery soup, his head sliding deeper into the bowl as he drained its contents. Licking the last few lentils with his tongue he sat up, wiping his face in the shirt's shoulder. Despite having consumed the entire meal he was starving. He attempted to cheer himself with the thought that at least the soup had contained no salt so he had also had a drink.

* * *

Michelle held the towel in her hand, trembling as she eyed the silent bathroom. Much to their relief the two women had been allowed out to wash and change after the rest of the group had finished. She studied the roof carefully, wondering whether she could remove some tiles.

'Sweetie, it won't work that way, the place is too solid,' Rita told her, guessing her thoughts. 'I thought it didn't matter where it was put, as long as it was outside.'

'It doesn't really matter as long as it's clearly visible,' Michelle replied, rubbing her eyes and struggling to concentrate. 'It's just got to be in an exposed spot, and they're not likely to just let us hang it out.'

'Why don't we try it anyway?' Rita suggested. 'Fortune favors the bold! I noticed the washing line we rigged up behind the sleeping quarters is still in use. I'll try and hang this towel out with the rest of our clothes.' They stared at each other uneasily. 'Between you and me, they don't look like Rhodes scholars,' Rita continued. 'Only that man who came and took Tony has a clue what's going on.'

'You're right,' she agreed, handing the towel over reluctantly. 'Let's just pray they even _got_ a satellite over this area. DOD can't be expected to reposition a satellite forever.'

Rita walked over to the washing line casually, her arms filled with wet clothes and a soaking pink towel. Ali eyed her disinterestedly as she hung them over the line, pegging them securely, the fluorescent towel in the middle of the line between two black chadors. Without bothering to glance his way she returned to the bathroom where Michelle poured the third bucket of water over herself. 'It's done.'


	18. The Discussion

Adam pushed the door closed silently and hurried over to Gael, glancing round furtively. Tech One appeared deserted as he leaned over a console. 'Take a look at this. It's pink.'

Gael understood his colleague's excitement. 'Show me.' They studied an ordinary washing line in great detail, deciding that yes, the pink item was indeed a towel. 'Enhance,' Adam muttered and they studied the compound. 'They're there.'

Gael nodded, replaying a few minutes' footage. A few armed men walked the perimeter fence, though that in itself was nothing unusual for that area. Women hidden in chadors walked a small part of what resembled a yard, again, nothing unusual, except…Gael frowned. 'There's just too many people for those few buildings,' he mused. 'They can't all live there. It's definitely a camp of some kind. Yeah, Adam.' He picked up the phone to invite Jack downstairs.

Jack studied the footage in silence; pointing to the women they had captured wandering the yard. 'If only they weren't covering their heads,' he said.

'Look at this, Jack,' Gael said, fast forwarding the images till the group of women withdrew and two were led out. 'Here, this one hanging that towel. If only I could enhance that image further. I need to see her hand.'

'Get over to Division and do so. What are you looking for?' Jack pressed. 'A ring?'

Gael nodded. 'Yeah, a wedding ring.'

'And we'd identify the ring and the wearer,' Jack guessed. 'Good thinking.'

Gael leaned against the door, meeting his eyes. 'That's Tony's mother,' he said, turning the handle.

'Wait,' Jack ordered. 'How could you know that?'

'They're old friends. I've seen her hanging washing hundreds of times.'

* * *

His door opened unexpectedly while he slept on the icy floor overcome by sheer exhaustion. A flashlight directed onto his face followed by a swift kick to his ribs woke him and he blinked groggily, rolling over instinctively to protect himself. 'Get up,' Ali ordered in an icy tone.

Tony rolled over, bending his stiff knees with difficulty. _Keep it together, Almeida. They're gonna start their interrogation, stay focused. Try getting your wrists freed._ He was hauled to his feet following an order snapped at another armed man who yanked him out the door by his hair. 'Lemme go, will you. I can walk by myself,' he snapped, his protest falling on deaf ears. The armed man deposited him less than gently onto a chair in the center of the 'office.'

His heart skipped a beat as he noticed Hassan perched on the desk, eyeing him from deep pools of black, his expression unreadable. He had seen that look before as another group had prepared to interrogate him - he felt violently sick. Staring in front of him with an expressionless mask he awaited the questioning with trepidation.

'Antonio Almeida,' Hassan began, narrowing his eyes. 'U.S. Federal Agent, assassin and spy. You think you can come interfere in MY country?'

Tony shook his head in protest. 'I wasn't exactly plannin' on entering your country! Your invitation was a little hard to refuse,' he said, unable to allow the insults to pass unchallenged.

A slap across the face sent him spiraling out of the chair, landing sprawled on his side as he spat blood.

"_Dammit Almeida. Do you fail this exercise on purpose?" yelled a justifiably outraged instructor, slamming his file on the table. "What the hell have I just suggested you do during enemy interrogation?" Tony squirmed on the chair, aware he had acted rashly. "I'm sorry sir; I'll do better next time." The instructor scoffed at his apology. "That's what you said the last five times! A marine officer reacts in a calm and calculated way in every circumstance, especially such a critical one. Don't you realize the enemy will seek to rile you up to break you down quicker? You're their ideal candidate. Now we'll repeat this one final time. Show any emotion at all, I'm failing you! Now what in particular bothered you about that final interrogation?" Tony chewed his lip, unwilling to reply until the instructor rose to stand over him, his expression threatening dire retribution should he remain silent. "That bastard insulted my mother," he admitted, longing for the session to end so he could seek out his classmate who had taken the role of interrogator and strangle him. The instructor's frustrated sigh appeared to come from his mouth and nose simultaneously. "Almeida, just take it, alright. These people are expert at discovering which buttons to push. Look at it this way; they never even MET your mother! Now are we ready for this?" Tony nodded firmly. He would pass the test, whatever it took! "Yeah, I'm perfectly calm!"_

"_Garrison," he snapped, grabbing his fellow officer candidate by the arm and shoving him against the wall in the deserted shower hours later. "Your interrogation techniques suck! Lemme tell you this just once – you EVER insult my family again, you'll drink from the toilet, that's_ _a promise!"_

He remained where he had landed, not wishing to risk a further blow. Hassan said something and he was dragged back to his chair by his hair, that being the preferred method of moving a prisoner, he guessed.

A silence ensued during which both groups studied each other in distaste. 'Alright, Director Almeida, let's start again,' Hassan decided, lighting a cigarette and leaning towards Tony to blow the smoke into his face.

_Sure wish we could! We'd have picked a different flight._ He remained silent, eyes narrowed.

'Let's make this real simple and get you back to your family,' Hassan began, tapping the cigarette to drop a pile of ash on the floor. 'You have access to the FBI database. Open the files we ask for, and we won't hurt anyone.'

Tony shook his head nonchalantly. 'You know I can't do that.'

'We've got time, Mr. Almeida,' Hassan assured him, accepting his refusal with equanimity. 'I can afford to give you another day to consider the matter before I hand your wife over to my colleagues. Few of them had the chance of knowing a Western woman. And there's your mother too, I believe?'

The room spun around him as his vision blurred. He sprang from the chair in a single fluid movement, too fast for the guard to restrain him, and slammed his head into Hassan's chest, knocking him to the ground. Before the guard had a chance to grab him he deposited a few furious kicks at the terrorist who struggled to his feet. 'Son of a bitch! Don't you dare threaten my family. I'll…'

Hair yanked backwards, he spat out his final words… 'rip your throat out.'

'I'll rip yours out if you try that again,' Hassan assured him, settling back onto the desk and waving a hand at the guard, who pulled the chair two feet further back. 'That type of cowboy behavior is not tolerated here. We respect our superiors in an Islamic Republic.'

'Oh, I respect all my _superiors_ too,' Tony hissed, 'when I see any!'

The blow his guard gave him was worth it, he decided as he struggled to his knees for the second time. _Keep going, Almeida, get them mad at you. Hopefully they'll forget all about mom and Michelle. Draw their anger onto yourself, you can take it._ 'So far, from what I've seen of you, I'd be surprised to find one man who can sign his own name without help!'

His remark appeared to have hit a raw nerve. Hassan's eyes flickered for the first time since their meeting, red fire scalding the bottomless black depths. Leaping to his feet he shoved Tony into the wall, slamming his head against it repeatedly. 'Shut up, you infidel! SHUT UP' he roared, goblets of spit spraying Tony's face. 'You know NOTHING! NOTHING,' he yelled, backhanding him.

Tony slid to the ground beside the wall, cursing the lack of the use of his hands. His head threatened to burst as he struggled to slow his ragged breathing. _Easy, Almeida. These people get riled up as quickly as you do! They'll rip you apart right here and forgo any confidential intel if you don't shut your mouth! It's worked, they've forgotten all about your family._ He glanced warily at Hassan who strode the room, muttering under his breath. 'Get up, you dog!'

The guard hauled him upright yet again, holding him in a vice like grip while he struggled to simulate a healthy prisoner. Hassan snapped something in Urdu and he was shoved forward into his cell, both men following close behind. The guard lit a blinding flashlight and Hassan gave him a push, slamming him face forward into the back wall. Blood trickled from his nose which he wiped into his shirt's shoulder. Someone grabbed his wrists, twisting the wire. Warm blood trickled over numb fingers and Tony screamed aloud.

'That's better,' Hassan told him, obviously pleased to inflict pain. 'Annoy me again, dog, and I'll cut both your hands off!'

'Leave the wires this tight, they're gonna need amputating soon anyway!' Tony retorted, tears stinging his eyes.

Hassan snorted, flashing the light at his hideously swollen fingers. 'You could be right. You wouldn't be much use that way, right? Don't move.'

Tony remained where he was while a knife sliced the wire, freeing his hands. He rubbed his fingers together, wincing.

'Get into that corner,' Hassan ordered, nodding his head at the corner of his choice. 'Sit down.'

Tony obeyed; dismayed to see the guard withdraw shackles that he fastened round his ankles, securing the chain round an iron hook. 'Why chain me up, Hassan?' he demanded, eyeing the terrorist. 'I'm not exactly able to dig my way outa solid stone!'

'You got a real poor attitude, dog,' Hassan replied. 'I've seen enough movies to know the classic "stand behind the door and run when it opens" move! I'm just being prudent.'

'You saw plenty of those movies, right? In America, I'll bet,' Tony said, watching his legs pulled straight by the guard. 'You're American too, Hassan, let's face it! You don't belong here anymore than I do.'

'Shut up, agent, or you'll lose your tongue!' the terrorist snapped.

'The threats sound different, but your accent tells me you're from around Alabama. What did we do to you, Hassan, to get you to hate us so much?' He studied his captor in silence, wishing he could gain insight into the mind of a Western terrorist. Here was a living, breathing example of the speech he had given back at the conference in Melbourne. For a fleeting moment he envisioned himself walking onto a platform with a gun at Hassan's head, using him as the ultimate prop.

'You've got a lot to answer for, more than you'll ever know,' Hassan assured him.

Tony's eyes narrowed in deep thought. 'Did the kids at school give you a hard time?' he guessed, closer to the truth than he knew. Hassan ignored him, examining each stone with his flashlight. 'I'm right, aren't I?' Tony continued. 'You know, you're not alone there. When I was little there weren't many Spanish kids close to us…' He fell silent, watching the terrorist. 'I had a hard time too, trust me.'

'You don't know what "hard time" means.' Hassan spoke without bothering to glance in his direction.

'Oh no? I got beaten up everyday, until my father taught me how to fight back. Then he got called in to be told _I _was the one causing the trouble!'

The terrorist snorted, remaining silent to Tony's amazement. _You hit the nail on the head, Almeida. He's still bitter about what happened back there…_

'And now you're going to tell me you're good friends with all of them, that they're really nice and it's okay to gang up on strangers.'

Tony shook his head. 'No I won't, because it wouldn't be true. I made friends with a coupla them in the end, enough not to get picked on. Wouldn't have a clue what they're doing now, we moved to the other side of the country! And no, it's not alright to pick on strangers, but it happens everywhere, if you're realistic.'

Hassan snorted again, dismissing his words. 'Next thing, you'll be telling me I had as much chance to succeed as anyone else!' He glared at Tony, begging him to differ.

'Now you know the richest top percent get stuff handed to them all over the world,' Tony admitted, rubbing his face. 'I didn't belong to that group, and a lota people I know who're doing okay now didn't belong there. You went to college too! That's not so bad for the son of penniless migrants.'

The look of pure hatred directed in his direction stopped him temporarily. 'I won a scholarship to college, if you must know. No one handed me anything.' He glared definitely at Tony. 'I used my brains, rather than join the military, like you did!'

_Seems like they scrutinized your file while you were locked in here, Almeida._ 'If you got to college, you could've tried to fit in. They're not as bad as elementary school kids.' He folded his arms, his interrogator's skills fully honed. 'I'm guessing you DID make friends there, fit in real well. Fit in perfectly, in fact. You had a good career too, don't deny it. I can tell, it shows. Couldn't you just have forgotten those early insults...?'

'It's not about forgetting,' Hassan assured him. 'You got a real long memory also, Almeida, so don't preach to me!'

Tony shook his head slowly. 'There's a difference between remembering sometimes and reliving the worst times on purpose. You missed a lot of tough times too, Hassan, growing up in the states.'

Hassan snorted indignantly. 'I missed out on a normal education, yes. Now let me tell YOU something, Almeida. Muslims have _long_ memories. We never forget. One day, maybe now, maybe in a hundred years, we'll give you back what you gave us! You'll die then.'

'What are you talkin' about?' Tony demanded, startled at the deep vehemence. His entire experience with Islamic militants had consisted of brief encounters in his military days and later interrogating a few in CTU about specific deeds, never about the background that gave rise to such acts in the first place. 'Why don't you try explain it to me?'

'I think you know _exactly_ what I'm talking about, Almeida.'

Tony shook his head confused.

'The Crusades. You're going to regret taking part in that. You think we've forgotten?'

'But you're from Pakistan, not the Middle East,' he exclaimed bewildered.

'And you imagine it's nothing to do with us? Muslims fight together to avenge insults, no matter where they take place. We will make you pay for your crimes,' Hassan assured him, watching him carefully. 'Enough talk now. You will sit there and think about your situation.'

_Two weeks ago you were on holiday with Michelle, exploring remarkable coastlines. Today you're locked in some disused stone cell debating the legitimacy of the Crusades. _He decided Hassan was as pig headed as his grandmother, who never failed to let his brother-in-law John know how the European powers let Spain down, heading off to the Middle East rather than help free Granada. He sighed guiltily. At least his grandmother gained satisfaction by making John blush and apologize. Hassan would not stop till he had taken the lives of dozens of people. Tony shut his eyes and rubbed his aching temples, wondering just how many sacrifices would suffice to fill his revenge.

* * *

Michelle took a step backwards, instinctively seeking the support of Tony's parents as the door opened and two armed men waved them out. They filed into the yard, blinking in the twilight. Ali met them, glaring at them. He told them they were being returned to the rest of the group but he would watch them extra carefully. The slightest hint of rebellion would see them returned to the store room.

'Where's my son?' Marco demanded, glaring at him. 'You'll be in _real_ trouble if you hurt him!'

Ali threw him a mocking look. 'Will I? You'll see him again just as soon as he answers a few questions. He's a little stubborn, so I guess you'll have to wait a couple of days.'

They exchanged nervous looks. _He's hurting Tony._ Michelle's fists clenched. 'Where is he?' she asked.

'That's not for you to know,' Ali replied, waving his hand at the segregated groups. 'Go join your friends. Like I said, don't try anything.'

The little group crossed the courtyard desperately worried. 'You remember the knife, Marco?' Michelle said.

He nodded. 'I do. We'll get outa here, don't you worry. Tony seemed to mean we should go soon.' He shook his head in defeat. 'Thing is, I just can't for the life of me see a way we could do that. I understand what he's saying, they could use us as leverage against him…but to just make a dash for it would doom a lot of us to death.'

'They're going to kill us all sooner or later,' she assured him with quiet conviction. 'It's a poverty stricken area. How long do you think they can keep dead weight?'

'As long as they're financed to do so,' he guessed.

'We're going to need to discuss a break-out,' she said slowly, eyeing the approaching guards. 'One of us should make a real diversion, and we can storm the gate.'

Marco chewed his lip reminding her of her of the absent Tony, drawing fresh tears to her eyes. 'Michelle, I was never much of a soldier,' he admitted, hoping their friendship would survive the revelation. 'I've seen so many people struggling to eke out some kind of existence, so much disease, I always figured we got enough problems without adding to it! I've never even seen anyone killed!' He paused, watching her reaction. 'I never wanted to, either.'

Rita slipped her hand in his, squeezing it. 'It's okay, sweetheart.'

Michelle swallowed, her heart warm. 'If everyone were you like you, Marco, this world would be a better place,' she said gently. 'I'll think of something.'

He shook his head. 'I'm no coward, Michelle. If Tony told us to get out as soon as possible, he had a reason. I don't know what they're doing to him, but it's gonna turn bad. I am not going to sit by and allow them to hurt him. I'll create a diversion tomorrow in the yard; get the ladies ready to flee.'

'They'll kill you,' Rita whispered, her heart clenched.

'I'll do my best to avoid that, querida. If it should happen though, I want you all to leave Pakistan and get help for Tony.'

Ali appeared, giving him a violent shove. 'What's your problem, Sombrero? You were told to get back to the rest of the men. Want another whipping?'

'Not particularly,' Marco hissed, turning his back on their captor.

* * *

Gael sent the picture back to CTU, thanking his counterpart in Division. He left the building cautiously, aware the fabricated reason for his use of their superior technology would fail to go down should Chappelle notice him. He nodded his head in a friendly fashion at an analyst, walking nonchalantly over to the exit. _Keep going, Ortega, you're almost there!_ He smiled at a particularly attractive young woman who was obviously new and breathed easier as the front entrance came into view.

'Mr. Ortega. What a surprise. What does CTU need?' a voice inquired, halting him. Gael had learned a thing or two in the military also, his expression was blank as he turned.

'Good afternoon, Mr. Hammond! I was just leaving.'

Hammond pursed his lips, eyeing him in disapproval. 'I can see that. Would you mind stepping upstairs to my office for a moment? There's something I need to discuss with you.' He turned abruptly, crossing the floor without bothering to check whether his wishes were complied with.

Gael cursed under his breath, briefly considering just leaving before he dismissed the thought. Pulling his polite, fake smile onto his face he turned and followed his worst nightmare upstairs. He was about to be grilled and experience taught him it would be awhile before he was allowed to leave. Teresa was going to have something to say to him again, if she were forced to go to their son's school play, Snow White and the seven Dwarfs alone. _Damn you, Hammond!_

_

* * *

_

Hassan glared at the terrified women, pointing his hand at Michelle. 'Get out, bitch.'

Heart beating wildly she moved to comply hoping to be taken to Tony. Rita helped her to her feet and supported her to the doorway where they were marshaled into the deserted yard.

'That signal of yours was a foolish idea,' he began, eyeing Michelle in a rage. 'You surely can't imagine anyone is scrutinizing satellite images to search for it! You're wasting your time.' He threw the pink towel at her feet, his mouth foaming with anger.

Michelle looked bewildered. 'We did our washing today. Why are you talking about satellites?'

'Don't play me for a fool,' he snapped, annoyed. 'Try anything at all a second time, anything at all, I'll have you beheaded! I'll be sure to keep your son alive long enough to watch that,' he continued, turning to Rita. 'He's not doing too well right now!'

Red hot rage flared through her as she took a step towards him. 'Now you listen to me, whoever you are,' Rita hissed. 'My son will never tell you anything, so you might as well return him to us. If you hurt him, I will kill you. However long it takes, however much it costs, I won't rest till I shoot you! _No_ place on this earth will be safe for you.'

Ali listened in silence, his admiration for the woman increasing.

Hassan took a step towards her, grabbing her hair. 'What…'

'Leave her for now, she's just an ignorant woman,' Ali muttered. 'She'd be best used later should the agent refuse to talk.' He said something in Urdu and Hassan nodded, slapping Rita hard before he turned and left them to be returned to the 'bedroom.'


	19. A Day In The Village

Tony woke several times during the cold night, his aching head resting on his knees which were drawn as close to his chest as the shackles allowed them. He had little idea of the time, but was aware his interrogation drew closer with every passing second. His head pounded in tandem with his heartbeats and he shivered, his last interrogation by militants fresh in his mind. _Dear God please help me. I don't know if I can do that again._ He wiped the icy sweat from his forehead, envying the passengers the use of a bucket.

They entered his cell before dawn, unshackling his legs and poking him in the back. Tony stumbled before them into the outer room, settling into his chair. Longing to rub the sleep from his eyes he forced himself to sit straight, his eyes squeezing shut as they turned a blinding light onto his face. 'You look sleepy, Almeida,' Hassan said, nodding his head at the guard. Tony forced his eyes open, squinting, in time to witness him raising a bucket. Icy water poured over him, drenching him. All the training he had undertaken failed to prevent his involuntary gasp as his heart threatened to leave his ribcage.

They roared with laughter at his discomfort. 'Feel fresher?' Hassan mocked. 'You had your early morning shower! Almost like home, isn't it?'

'Yeah, except I'm kinda used to changing my clothes,' he muttered back.

Hassan ignored the remark as he appeared fully occupied assembling a computer. Tony watched whilst a modem was plugged into a phone line and the terrorist sat behind the desk. 'I'm waiting. I need your access code to CTU,' he said unemotionally.

Tony remained silent, fully awake thanks to the icy drenching.

Hassan rose from the desk, moving to stand before him. 'You got a fantastic memory, Almeida. Don't pretend you've forgotten what we discussed yesterday. If you fail to help me with my inquiries your wife will become the common property of every single man while you get to watch…'

Tony lunged for him, held back by a more prepared guard who held him taut against the chair. He chewed his lip, filling his mouth with saliva which he spat directly into Hassan's face.

His distraction worked admirably. Hassan wiped his face on his sleeve, roaring a string of harsh words at the guard. 'You dare to insult me, you dog?' he began, changing unexpectedly to English while he opened the front door and yelled something out. 'Let me show you something that'll remind you of just where you are.' A third man entered with a pair of handcuffs which Hassan secured round his slashed wrists. 'Move,' he snapped. Tony noted the guard's hand moving to his hair so he rose unsteadily, uneasy.

Hassan led the way out of the building, the two guards on either side of him. A faint glow lit the tops of the surrounding mountains as he shuffled up the dirt road past houses from which muffled sounds indicated the inhabitants were preparing for the new day. Tony held his head high, nothing indicating his internal fear. _Where the hell are we going? These people will be about soon, they won't be pleased to see you, Almeida!_ The icy wind blew dust into his eyes as struggled forward against it narrowing his eyes to slits. Hassan led him to what appeared to be the center of the miniscule settlement. Tony noticed a few larger dwellings all facing the dusty square with a mosque taking up an entire side. His unease mounted as he was pushed forward.

Hassan pulled his cuffs to stop him as they approached an abandoned wooden power pole. 'Stop,' he snapped, unlocking his cuffs. Tony waited, aware of the two rifles poked into his ribs, wishing they would remove the shackles from his ankles. Instead, his wrists were seized by the terrorist and pulled behind the pole, cuffed round it.

'What are you doin'?' he asked, risking a glance into the man's eyes.

'I'm gonna let you see just how popular you are round here, dog,' Hassan told him, a chilling smile on his face.

The shiver that ran down his spine was not caused entirely by the icy breeze through soaking clothes.

_Rita Almeida stirred, tiptoeing from the room, groaning aloud as he stirred fitfully. 'Where are you going, mommy?' She returned to his beside, stroking his damp hair. 'I've got to get the baby, sweetie, he's up. And Janey's been watching TV all afternoon. Try and sleep.' Tears filled his eyes as his swollen head pounded. 'I want papa. Where's papa?' His mother hushed him gently, reminding him that his father was at work. Tony sobbed aloud, insisting on speaking to him, until his mother wrapped him up in his blanket and carried him downstairs to the phone. 'Come home papa,' he pleaded through a parched throat. His father arrived an hour later as his mother read to him, startling them both. "Marco, what about the client? You were supposed to discuss that building with him, show him your plans?" His father shrugged and winked at him. "I told him I got a child with mumps and was feeling a little sick myself. He just backed away! Go get some rest, I'll take over." He removed his clothes and settled in the bed beside Tony, wrapping him in his arms. "I know you're feeling bad, m'ijo, but try close your eyes and sleep a little. I'm not going anywhere!" His mother frowned mildly; reminding him no one could remember whether he'd ever actually had mumps himself. He shrugged, insisting he'd stay whatever happened. _

A man walked past, stopping to exchange words with one of his guards. Frowning in disgust he moved closer to Tony, a string of guttural sounds pouring from his throat. He finished his lecture by slapping him across the face, bending down to raise a handful of dust which he threw into his eyes. They cackled together while he struggled to blink the particles out.

_Focus, Almeida, it's just beginning… "Marco, would you help peel a few potatoes?" his mother asked, opening the door to the master bedroom he had slept in for the previous week. His father stirred slowly. "Sorry, querida, I'll be right down, I just feel a little dizzy." Rita moved over to him in a hurry, feeling his forehead. "Oh God, you're sick too," she noted. "Stay put sweetheart, I'll call the doctor."_

A couple of people walked towards him, the women heavily veiled. They all stopped to stare at him while he considered the alternatives of hanging his head to appear unthreatening, which he dismissed as he refused to act ashamed, or staring them in the eye defiantly, which might be interpreted as too challenging. He opted to stare at the dwelling before him, noting the state of general disrepair. They muttered a few words of disgust at him, the man bringing his walking stick heavily onto his thigh. Tony hissed in pain. Satisfied, they left, continuing their journey to the mosque.

_Oh God, they're ALL gonna pass me! Focus Almeida,_ he ordered himself savagely. _Ignore them! You're gonna be black and blue by the beginning of the service._ He rubbed his face into his shoulder, drawing deep breaths to prevent the onslaught of panic_. "You got it alright," the doctor informed his father unsympathetically. "You should've taken precautions and avoided that child. You'll be sick for a long time; it's a lot nastier in adults than in children!" Tony lay in bed, eyes pressed shut, listening to every word. "Can I ask you something?" his father inquired, his raspy tone indicating a badly swollen throat. "Will I make a full recovery? Will I…" He fell silent and the doctor shrugged. "Most likely you'll be fine. But what's the problem? You already got three kids! Next time stay away from sick children."_

The square became filled with every member of the community, all pausing to stare at him. Tony lost track of the amount of times he wiped his face from spittle, or the number of kicks and blows he received. Lips pressed together he gazed ahead of him, his discomfort indicated by nothing besides his constant shivering. Had his clothes hung on a washing line rather than on him they would've dried by then, he was certain.

"_He was right, Marco," his mother said softly, feeding his father a bowl of vegetable soup. Sick as he was, his father snorted in indignation. "Oh, he's logical alright, I'll give him that, but he thinks like a robot!" Tony remained unnoticed on the landing, his ear to the door. "What's that got to do with it?" Rita protested. "Mumps is highly contagious." "Querida, my baby was sick. Do you really think I could avoid him, like that man suggested? I'd sit with Tony no matter if I died!" Marco concluded. Tears filled his eyes as he pushed open the door, rushing over to the bed. "Papa, what's wrong? Please don't die," he sobbed in terror._

It appeared every member of the isolated community held him a special grudge as they left the mosque. Tony attempted to move his head to avoid the shower of pebbles hauled at his face, dodging a few of them successfully. Bleeding and bruised he was left alone apart from his two guards who kept a sharp eye on him, the cold numbing his injuries.

* * *

Ryan Chappelle stared at the form before him in the greatest astonishment. Its appearance on his desk together with the customary requests for transfers and leave was normal enough, just another simple holiday request. The name on the form was what attracted his attention. Narrowing his eyes he dialed CTU, calling the office direct. 'Jack, it's Ryan. Under normal circumstances I'd appreciate your sense of humor, but …'

'It's no joke, Ryan,' Jack assured him, his eyes on Alberta who had settled remarkably quickly into Tony's office. 'I haven't had a vacation for 16 months. Now you know I'm due 4 weeks.'

'And you know that with Alberta sorting out comm's affairs, and then searching for a permanent replacement, it's out of the question at the moment,' Ryan replied, incredulous that a man with Jack's brains would fail to understand such a simple thing. 'I need one permanent face in charge over there, Jack. You'll have to wait for a while. We'll compensate you, of course.'

Jack frowned at the phone, his eyes on the screen before him, the pink towel drawing them. 'And I'm telling you I'm tired, Ryan. I need a break to function at the optimum level this office requires,' he argued. 'Alberta's got the place pretty much under control. I've already booked a vacation.'

Ryan raised his eyes heavenward. 'Cancel it, Jack. Since Tony's death, I need you there.'

Jack's fists clenched imperceptibly. _He's not dead, Ryan. He didn't even send the C code yet._ 'I need a week, Ryan,' he said finally, deciding it was best to compromise. If all went as he planned, he should be back in a week.

'One week,' Ryan agreed, relieved he had won a narrow victory. 'You're not leaving the country, I hope.'

There was a pause on the other end of the line. 'I was planning on doing a little fishing,' Jack said slowly.

'That figured,' Ryan decided. Jack was sure to pick some goddamn unreachable place to hold a rod and stare at some unknown river. 'Be reachable,' he ordered, hanging up.

His door flew open as he took a deep breath, Gael bursting in without waiting for an invitation. 'Jack, take a look at this. We just got it on satellite. It's Tony!'

They studied the latest images grimly, an occasional sigh from Gael the only sound in the office. Jack frowned at the series of still shots, shaking his head. 'He's having a rough time. Looks like someone's onto him. Find me anyone at all who accessed his name in the past fortnight, would you, Gael.'

'And you're sending in rescue,' Gael said, watching him intently.

Jack tapped his hand against the desk. 'It's not possible, Gael.'

'You could ask the president to authorize…'

'I already did, and he won't go for it,' Jack interrupted. 'We got too much to lose.'

Gael got up, an icy look on his face. 'You'll get my resignation within the hour,' he snarled, heading to the door. 'Tell me Jack, does it really matter so much to you? You've known Tony for ages.'

'Does what matter?' Jack asked, puzzled.

'Oh come on, let's not play games. The president would pull him out, were he an Anglo!' He left the office, slamming the door, his heart burning.

Jack strode after him furiously. 'Gael, come back. Dammit, there's something I need to tell you,' he snapped, half dragging him back inside the office. 'Siddown!'

Gael frowned, his eyes narrow. 'I'm going for him,' Jack said slowly, opening a drawer and handing him an airline ticket. 'Plane leaves at 22:00 hours. I'm bringing him home.'

Gael sucked in his breath, impressed. 'Is Chappelle okay with it?'

Jack paced the room, watching him. 'As far as he's concerned, I'm fishing in Canada,' he admitted. 'I need you to stay here and watch the place. I'll take a GPS and a sat. phone, I'll rely on you to update me as to Tony's whereabouts. Now listen, this is real important. The moment Tony sends the C code, delete it. I'd be there soon, there's no reason to destroy the place.'

Gael watched him carefully. 'If this goes wrong, we'll be sharing a cell for the rest of our lives,' he observed.

'So you'll do it?' Jack pressed.

'You can count on me,' Gael agreed. 'Just hope you don't snore!'

* * *

A soft glow lit the surrounding mountain ranges, shadowing their jagged edges while illuminating the majestic peaks in their full splendor. Tony's eyes examined them slowly to wile away the time and distract himself from his aching body which shook relentlessly in the wind. Mercifully the crowd had thinned after sunset, leaving him to contend with nothing worse than the occasional hostile who wished to haul another pebble in his face or slap his legs with objects ranging from sticks to whips. Judging by the moon's position, he had been there half the night. He prayed to be returned to his chilly cell, out of the sight of the population. There was no chance of him surviving a second day of such treatment without cursing them.

_Book in hand, Tony watched his mother emerge from the doctor's surgery with a smile on her face. "Come on sweetheart, let's go and collect the little ones," she said, taking his hand. He returned the book and followed her outside, pulling his hood on. "What did he say? You're not sick, are you, mommy?" Rita threw him a warm smile and pulled him close, tying his hood firmly under his chin. "Oh no. Want to know a secret, sweetheart?" He nodded eagerly, assuring her he would tell no one. "We're having another baby," his mother confided, his eyes dancing. "Do you like babies, Tony?" He nodded eagerly, bombarding her with questions as to when the little one would arrive; shocked to hear it would not be for another seven months. "Now tonight we'll make Papa a special dinner, to celebrate. He'll be sooooo pleased!"_

He pressed his eyes shut, worn out. It was too cold to sleep soundly, but he rested, conserving what strength remained for the coming ordeal.

Hassan came for him at dawn, ordering the guards to uncuff him and return him to the cell. He stumbled through the village as fast as his shackles permitted, eager to avoid the inhabitants. 'You see, Almeida, if I released you now, they'd rip you apart,' his captor assured him smugly. 'I'm the only thing protecting you. Piss me off and I'll simply throw you out! You understand that?'

'Yeah,' Tony mumbled, the room spinning disturbingly round him. 'Could I get some food and fresh clothes now?'

'That depends on how cooperative you'll be,' Hassan replied, pointing to the chair. 'Sit.'

'You gotta be kidding!' Tony exclaimed. 'I'm not telling you anything till I get some food and clothes. You can do whatever the hell you like.'

Hassan studied him for a minute before he nodded and spoke to the guard. 'You'll get clean clothes and some food, Almeida, though you might not like it very much!'

Tony struggled against sleep as he remained on his chair, wishing they would hurry with his food.

* * *

Marco was also awake, wrapped in his sheepskin, the knife in his fingers. He had tested the blade in the darkness, satisfied. If necessary it would indeed suffice. Just how he would plunge it into someone was something he had put off considering until now. Whilst he would offer his life in exchange for his wife's without hesitation, he needed to make it out alive to find his son. 'Get a grip,' he ordered himself sternly. 'A lot of lives depend on you. A lot of lives could be lost because of you also,' an inner voice told him.

* * *

Jack removed his seatbelt, and opened his tray. The first part of his ticket took him to Vancouver. It was the part he would show after his mission. The remainder of the ticket included London, Moscow, and Dushanbe, from where he would have to get to the tiny town of Vrang to cross the border. With all the changes and delays it was a two day trip. Gael had seen him off at the airport, wishing him luck.

'You got the name?' he questioned for at least the fifth time.

Jack had nodded impatiently. 'Am I likely to forget it? Ivan Ivanov, and he works as a baggage handler. With an alias like that, how could I forget? Sure hope he's got everything I'll need.'

'I have it on good authority that he sells the weapon of your choice for U.S. dollars, delivery immediate,' Gael assured him. 'So far none of his clients have complained.'

Jack nodded. 'As far as we know,' he sighed. 'Do you think he's got the pins, the rope and the first aid kit?'

'He's got it all, he's confirmed it. You might check it out quick, he's says he can get _every_ type of weapon.'

They exchanged glances. 'I won't have the time,' he admitted. 'They'll kill Tony. Gael, we still don't know just how they discovered his identity. Unless the passport he borrowed fell apart, we got a mole.'

Gael nodded as impatiently as he had. 'I know. Like you said, I'll check everyone who accessed his file in the last few weeks.'

The plane flew steadily northwards, the weather calm. Jack ate and drank without noticing what he had consumed, racked with concern over his colleague. 'Who're you kidding?' he asked himself bitterly. 'He's your friend, you know it. You wouldn't risk your life for a colleague.' To his relief he was the sole occupant of the row, leaving him free to pursue his plans in what was the first non hectic minute since Tony's capture. The self assigned mission would prove among the more challenging he had ever undertaken. An experienced soldier, he allowed himself to relax while he had the chance to do so, his body succumbing to the gentle motion. Jack fell asleep.


	20. Interrogation

Tony struggled with the final spoonful of slop - his stomach threatening to return the contents. _What the hell is it? Better not ask! You're starving; you need to eat to conserve a little strength. They're gonna start hurting you today._ Shutting his eyes he swallowed the mouthful, reaching for a tin mug of water which he drained to the last drop. 'Thanks,' he muttered.

Hassan nodded, launching into a lengthy lecture about the Koran's advice on the treatment of captives. Tony listened with one ear, his head buzzing. What seemed like hours later a guard approached with a bundle of clean rags.

'Remove your clothes,' Hassan ordered, unshackling his ankles.

Tony narrowed his eyes and stared at him in disgust. 'Can't I change alone?' he asked, deciding to chance an escape.

They scoffed, Hassan pointing to the fresh bundle with his rifle. 'Stop wasting time, dog. You've been fed. Get dressed or remain as you are, you got a minute to decide.'

Tony scowled and pulled off his filthy t-shirt, pleasantly surprised to discover it hadn't yet stuck to his skin. He removed his trousers and underwear a little more reluctantly, hating the sight of Hassan examining his fresh bruises.

'What are you waiting for?' his captor demanded as he stood before them naked.

Tony raised his head, his eyes boring into the terrorist's. 'I need to wash,' he said firmly, pointing to an empty bucket. 'There's no point getting changed otherwise.'

Hassan shrugged slightly displeased. 'Alright. You'll have one bucket.' He spoke to a man outside the door and they waited in silence till he returned with it full of icy water. Gritting his teeth Tony placed his undershirt inside it, rubbing himself all over, taking care to remove the blood from the several bruises the mob's sticks had raised. Face expressionless he worked the cloth into the wounds, aware his minute was long over. Once he was as clean as he could get without the use of soap he slid his arms inside the bucket, bathing his swollen wrists. Both contained deep scars where his cuffs had bitten into torn skin. For the few seconds he was left undisturbed the pain was numbed by the freezing water. He allowed his eyes to shut.

'That's enough, dog,' Hassan snapped, his patience at an end. 'Get dressed.' Leaning against the desk he tossed a worn towel in Tony's direction.

Tony's swollen fingers failed to open in time, the towel landing at his feet. Fighting to keep from wincing he bent down for it, bringing his hands together to save bending the fingers on either hand. Expressionless, he dabbed himself dry, pulling on the bundle of rags they had laid before him. There was a torn undershirt which had once been white, a faded green t-shirt and a pair of blue jeans with threadbare knees. Once he managed to pull them on he bent again, searching for his grimy shoes.

'Sit down, dog,' Hassan ordered, kicking his shoes under the desk. 'You're not going anywhere, so you won't need those. Now let's discuss access codes.' He smiled at Tony, nodding his head at the monitor.

Tony examined the poor condition of the shoe sticking out from beneath the desk in silence. _No way in the world you'd walk anywhere in that, Almeida, not even down the smoothest sidewalk at home. It's falling apart!_

Hassan rose, taking a stand directly before him, cigarette in his mouth. 'Look at me, dog. You don't look so good. You sure you wanna suffer?'

Tony shook his head slightly. 'No,' he whispered.

'Good. So what is the password I need to access…'

'You're wasting your time, Hassan. I can't tell you that,' he assured him, returning his gaze to the shoe.

Hassan hissed in annoyance, pulled the cigarette from his mouth and held it against Tony's swollen right palm, watching him.

Sick with pain, Tony gasped aloud, struggling against the guard who held him immobile. 'AAH,' he yelped, hot tears in his eyes as it was withdrawn. Shaking, he slumped against the back of the chair, struggling to regain his breath.

Hassan nodded in satisfaction. 'Burns can be dangerous if left untreated, Agent Almeida. They can get infected quickly. What is your password to CTU?' he demanded, bending over him.

Tony remained silent, his heart hammering against his chest, his head swimming with exhaustion.

'You're a fool, Almeida,' his captor assured him. 'Why go through all this suffering? Do you imagine anyone in your country is concerned about your fate? Nobody even wrote a letter of protest or denounced our actions! You have an air force base across the mountains; they could be here within half an hour. Do you imagine they will send even one plane for you?' He kicked Tony in the knee, yanking his head upwards by his hair. 'Answer the question, damn you!'

'No,' he muttered, his heart aching. _They should've come for Michelle. She's hurt._

'So why the hell suffer? They abandoned you.'

Once again his hair was yanked, his face meeting Hassan's. 'They got more important things to do,' he said, forcing the pain from his heart.

'They're not doing a blessed thing at the moment,' the man assured him, waving his hand at his computer. 'I would know about it were a mission planned. They just don't care about you, you're shit to them. Why protect them?'

'I'm American,' he whispered, seizing the opportunity to dip his burning hand into the bucket.

Hassan kicked the bucket over watching the healing water slosh on the floor. 'It's your choice, of course. I'll get those codes by the end of the day, one way or the other. It's up to you whether you return to the compound or have the vultures feeding on your carcass!'

He turned away for a moment, leaving Tony with a dismal image of his dying body being attacked by a flock of hungry scavengers that ignored his feebly flailing arms. A cold sweat trickled down his forehead as the terrorist turned to face him. 'Thought about it?' he asked pleasantly.

Tony returned his gaze to the shoe, flinching as the guard seized him while Hassan pressed the smoldering cigarette over the previous burn. Beads of sweat poured down his face as he shrieked, the echoes throwing his scream around the room. Mercifully his brain shut down, worn out by the exhaustion, pain and lack of food suffered during the previous days. He fell forwards, rolling onto the wet floor, coming round at a sharp kick in the ribs.

'Up, dog,' Hassan ordered, yanking him up by his hair and depositing him in the chair. 'We're going to talk today.' He spoke to the man outside who returned with a rope which he bound round his waist, securing him to the chair. 'Password,' Hassan continued as though there had been no interruption.

* * *

Michelle glared at the crowded bedroom in increased frustration. Their entire escape bid depended on her position in the yard, but from what she had noticed through the crack in the stones, it was deserted. The men appeared confined to their own room, the yard empty of all but a handful of armed militants. She settled her leg more comfortably and returned her eye to the crack, refusing to concede defeat. _Come on you bastards, release us! We're always let out for breakfast. What's different about today?_ A sneaking suspicion told her the variation in the routine was somehow linked to Tony's removal. Her heart beat faster as she considered the fact that he was being tortured at that very moment.

Rita settled beside her, peering out once she made way for her. 'It's just not happening, right?'

Michelle shook her head. 'I'll go bang on the door and start things,' she decided.

'No,' her mother-in-law begged, taking her hand. 'Sweetheart, this attempt will take all of us. With the men locked away, we wouldn't have a hope. They're gonna have to let us out soon, trust me.'

A long sigh escaped Michelle, who eventually nodded. 'You're right. I'm just so terrified they're hurting him now.' Her eye avoided contact as she focused on the piles of crumpled sheepskins.

'He won't crack,' Rita said softly, twisting her wedding ring.

Michelle stared at her, willing her to continue.

'They're working on him now,' Rita said abruptly, her lips drawn into a thin line. 'He's hurting.' The dim light showed Michelle eyes filled with a fury she'd never before witnessed.

'How?' she began before she stopped, accepting that it was something she would never understand. 'We must go then.'

Rita shook her head. 'We must wait. If we're to help Tony, our timing must be perfect. We only get one shot at this. His life depends on our patience.' She slipped her arm round Michelle. Huddled together in the close confines of the chamber they remained silent, each recalling different memories of Tony, seeking to prop the other up. An eternity later Michelle returned to the crack while Rita knelt on the ground whispering a prayer. She didn't dare to ask whether she felt anything worse had happened.

* * *

Eyes screwed into narrow slits he noted the arrival of the newcomer bearing a faded bag similar to the ones he had taken to school. The stranger frightened him as he watched his movements lethargically, as though he were watching him from the safety of his lounge – a merciless interrogator on the TV. Neither Richards nor Johnson would have anything this man was unaware of, he could tell. He noted the contents of the bag as they were emptied onto the desk with an academic fascination, his brain struggling to shut down. Judging by the sun's rays through the tiny window it was mid-afternoon and Hassan had worked on him since dawn. Against his will his eyes flickered to his hands which had been singled out for special attention. They were no longer recognizable as his own appendages, he concluded grimly. His fingers hung in grotesque shapes twisted and broken, attached to burned palms swollen to three times their thickness. _Focus Almeida_ he ordered the part of his brain that recognized the mess in the chair as himself. _This guy is here to cause you more pain…_It appeared as though the whole world was there to hurt him. His brain closed against the stranger, sending him into merciful oblivion.

Moments later his battered body was dragged from its short period of pain free bliss, icy water poured down his throat. He came round coughing, choking as he fought for breath. Gasping air into burning lungs he gazed at them wildly, racked by a shivering fit. They mocked him, telling each other how close he was to being broken. Hassan slapped his cheek, revealing his even teeth in his smirk. 'Stay with us, dog. Do I get the passwords, or should I ask Rashid to begin? I can promise you he knows how to cause pain.' Tony fixed his gaze on the heel of the shoe, sickened by the thought of more torture. 'You should be honored. He came to visit you all the way from Afghanistan!'

"_Ready to go, sweetie?" his mother inquired, her warm brown eyes showing their relief that another week had drawn to an end. He pulled his bag onto his shoulders avoiding her gaze, walking wordless along the corridor without looking back at the kindergarten. Hurrying several steps ahead of her he rounded the corner not wishing her to notice his tears. Her footsteps echoed after him as she ran to catch up, asking repeatedly what was wrong. He ploughed ahead blindly, colliding with the very group he wished to avoid, grabbed by the roughest boy. Slamming his head into the wall, the boy began the same taunting song he had sung the entire week "Tortilla Tony, tortilla Tony…." His song was cut off rather suddenly as he found himself lifted several feet from the ground by an ear, an indignant woman glaring at him. Tony blinked hard, shocked into silence. "Mom" he protested feebly as his mother deposited a huge smack on the boy's leg. To his further amazement the class bully burst into tears, yelling that he would tell his mother. "Please do," Rita agreed, setting him down with obvious reluctance, "but remember one thing. Touch Tony again, and I'll feed you to our dog!" She left, pulling the astonished Tony behind her, his mind struggling with the image of their 13 week old puppy attacking anything other than an unattended shoe._

For a fleeting moment he longed for her presence before his mind cleared enough to reject the idea.

'You're from LA, Mr. Almeida,' Rashid began kneeling beside him. 'I believe it's a beautiful city. You must miss your home and the beach.' Leaning closer, his fillings gleaming in the flashlight, he nodded. 'I too miss my home. Have you ever visited Paris, agent?'

_Yet another living example of your speech, Almeida. _His intestines twisted as he imagined the several million foreign born militants arriving to interrogate him.

Rashid spoke to the guard who untied him, pushing him off the chair. Feebly he tumbled to the floor, breathing through the pain from his right hand as it impacted with the hard stone surface. He squeezed his burning eyes shut, sparing them a second of focusing on the relentless light that was directed into them. Footsteps moved beside him and he opened an eye, too late to prevent Rashid's boot landing on his hands, his heel crushing the broken bones. A scream escaped him as he slid into a tunnel of blackness.

When he regained consciousness it was dark outside. The room was deserted save for the guard who sat at the desk sipping what resembled a mug of tea. Without moving he ran his eyes through the room, noting nothing with which he could defend himself, feeling his hands were once again fastened behind him and secured to the chair's leg. He remained silent, wishing to lie still in the icy water that had obviously failed to bring him round. He shivered violently, noting a patch of slime beside his face indicating he had vomited at some stage.

Hassan entered with Ali a while later, stepped over his prone body and settled on the desk. Ali kicked his stomach, telling his brother he would no longer have recognized their captive. Rashid joined them moments later, yanking him up by his hair. 'No use pretending you're asleep, Almeida. I know your kind!' He untied his wrists which he examined in silence. 'We've had our introduction,' Rashid continued boastfully. 'Now why don't you sit in that chair and let me bring you some morphine and call a doctor to set your fingers. All you have to do is tell Hassan a few passwords.'

Tony remained stubbornly silent, offering a swift prayer for strength as all four men rose. Rashid picked up a sharpened knife with a curved blade, drawing it along his leg. Tony hissed aloud, his eyes unable to leave the knife, his mind recalling a previous interrogation. It was obvious Rashid had read about it in his military file which had been forwarded to CTU for he pointed at his right knee. 'Remember the color of your knee cap, agent? You'll be seeing it again pretty soon. How many cuts did they give you, a few hundred?'

Icy sweat broke out on his face as his shivering increased. _I can't do that again!_ 'Yeah,' he muttered, desperate to prevent the same treatment at any cost.

Rashid leaned over him, slicing his knee cap while Ali and the guard held him taut. 'Give me the codes, Almeida.' Once again the knife slashed his knee.

Tony moaned aloud, his eyes squeezed shut. _Dear God give me strength._

'The codes, you dog. Tell me the codes,' Rashid repeated, carving a third line into his flesh. 'I need your access code and your password.'

Tony struggled against his bonds refusing to meet their eyes. Once again Rashid raised his knife. 'Code and password, you dog,' he snapped. 'I'll give you exactly one minute to speak before I'll have your wife brought over. Do you imagine I'm playing games here? I've broken hundreds of better men than you! Who the hell do you imagine I am?'

'A pig,' Tony breathed, regretting his words a moment later.

Rashid's face reddened at the horrified gasp. 'What did you call me?' he screamed.

Tony remained silent, his head buzzing as the blood painted his leg crimson.

Rashid moved swiftly, knocking him to the floor with a raised fist. Blood squirted from his mouth as he inadvertently bit his tongue. 'You DARE mock me, you serpent? You dare compare me to some unclean animal? You…' He returned the knife to the desk to Tony's relief. 'You're going to apologize on your knees,' he decided, forcing Tony to kneel.

He remained silent, his head spinning. Ali got up and placed a hand under his chin, forcing him to look at them. 'He's an idiot,' he concluded. 'Reminds me of his father. Maybe a whipping would teach him some manners.'

Rashid's eyes lit up and he snapped something at the silent terrorist. The guard seized Tony by the hair and dragged him outside into an enclosed garden, pushing him against a wall. Ali left while the remaining three tied his arms to the gate, ripping the t-shirt from his back. He shivered in the icy gale, his senses fully alert, heart sinking as Ali returned with a whip. Yet again he breathed a silent prayer begging for courage, the words sadly familiar.

They took it in turns to sit in the shelter of the doorway watching him as he spent his second night outdoors drifting in and out of consciousness. Occasionally his battered body gave up the struggle to remain awake and his head fell forward at which point the person watching him would flick him across his raw shoulders with the whip and he would wake up shaking, struggling to grasp his location. Silent mountain peaks witnessed his agony, floating in and out of his peripheral vision as his eyes blurred. As the sun's rays lit the tops of the tallest peak Rashid appeared and cut him loose, whereupon he collapsed in a heap on the ground, no longer able to raise his head. After the few kicks aimed at his ribs failed to get him moving the guard was summoned and he was dragged over the rough courtyard and deposited back in the chair. He refused to open his eyes, terrified he would weep.

'You're a tough bastard,' Rashid remarked, eyeing him with interest. 'I had a man like you once, a Marine. Rather died than told us anything, but that's the reason I remember him. Everyone else spoke in the end, as will you.'

Tony remained silent, the desire to return Michelle home the only reason he struggled against death.

'You remind me of that Marine,' Rashid muttered, grudging respect in his tone. 'It took him three days to die…You'd last another hour or so, I imagine. Let me ask…'

The world dimmed as his lungs struggled for air. His mouth opened instinctively as he gasped, his throat swollen despite no blows landing on it. His head ached violently, he coughed and retched. Rashid rose, grabbing the bucket to pour another load over him when he stopped, frozen. He spoke sharply to the guard who approached and backed away in a hurry, mumbling in terror.

Rashid yelled an order and he returned reluctantly, grabbed Tony by the hair and deposited him in his cell, slamming the door behind him in a hurry. Hitting the ground, Tony lost consciousness yet again.

* * *

Ryan Chappelle's forehead creased as he listened to his Canadian counterpart, shaking his head at the man. 'Of course he's a private citizen, Dick! Thing is, he's head of our counter terrorism unit here, so I'd just like you to keep an eye on him while he's on his fishing trip. Which part of the country is he in? I'm not snooping; just want to ensure his safety.'

His colleague smirked, thrilled to possess information Chappelle lacked. 'Seeing as Bauer is a private citizen, I'm not sure I'm authorized to divulge that kind of information,' he replied, forcing himself to repress a chuckle.

'Now Dick, you owe me a few favors,' Ryan reminded him. 'Where's Bauer fishing?'

'I can't tell you that, Ryan,' the chuckle slipped out despite his best efforts. 'See, he evidently figured there's more to catch in the UK, coz he boarded a British Airways flight an hour after he arrived. That plane landed in London a coupla hours ago! Seeing that it was a direct flight, you might need to inquire with MI5.'

'Dammit,' Ryan swore aloud, shaking his head in frustration. 'What in the world would possess anyone to go fishing there, unless….Where was his final destination point? The airport should have a record of his baggage transfers.'

'London, England,' his counterpart replied cheerily.

Chappelle hung up, calling a trusted acquaintance in London, who proved equally unhelpful. Yes, Jack Bauer had indeed arrived at Heathrow and claimed his suitcase. No, he left no forwarding address. No, it would not be a problem to check security footage. 'Just make sure you check the cameras for all passengers boarding flights to India or Pakistan,' Chappelle finished, slamming his phone down. 'Bauer's fired,' he informed Hammond in his usual monotone. 'Find a replacement for him, preferably someone without a problem taking orders!'


	21. The Breakout

Alexander Filipov sipped his glass of vodka, his eyes flickering aimlessly to the world map as he contemplated what a truly large part of the planet was consumed by water. Once again he studied the email that had been forwarded to him from his boss in Moscow from MI5 that morning, informing him they had tracked an American agent onto an Aeroflot flight the day before, requesting that he be detained the moment he stepped off the plane. Filipov shrugged fatalistically, unsurprised that his counterpart in Sheremetyevo Airport in Moscow had failed to recognize the American in time, writing him frantically to intercept him the moment the smaller Tupolyev landed in Dushanbe. Filipov finished his drink and reluctantly decided against pouring himself a second as his counterpart had informed him that the flight had actually left on time, for once. He opened his drawer and pulled a pistol out, placing it in his gun belt before he cast another bored look at the surrounding mountains. They were truly beautiful, he agreed with everyone who insisted they were; only he failed to understand their point. To him they were cold; home to dangerous rebels, reminding him of two miserable years spent traipsing up and down icy slopes during his national service. Not that his currant job of security officer in Dushanbe airport was much better, if he was honest. Not a blessed hint of excitement came his way as he occupied himself collecting a library and studying three foreign languages. Once again he studied Jack's photo, unable to comprehend why an American agent wished to visit the place.

'Jack Bauer,' he said, stepping before the American who cast him a nervous glance. 'Please don't worry; I'm not here to arrest you. I just need to ask you a few questions.' Seeing the American remained unconvinced he tried again. 'Your boss, a Rian Cha pell' he frowned at the printed copy of his email, 'is keen to speak with you.'

'Look, I haven't the time,' Jack began, seeking to sidestep him.

'Mr. Bauer, I am not your enemy. My country's help was requested in this investigation; should I fail to connect you to your boss I will be prosecuted by my own people. Please.'

Jack sighed and nodded. 'Lead the way,' he muttered, following the thirty something year-old Russian across the small terminal. He settled onto an imitation leather armchair and faced the Russian, noting the sparse furnishing of the office.

'We know you came here without informing anyone of your itinerary,' Filipov began, tapping a pen against his desk. 'What are you doing in Dushanbe, Mr. Bauer?' Jack remained silent. 'Mr. Bauer, once you call your boss, he will most likely insist I detain you. I have no wish to interfere in your business. If you let me know what you're seeking, I might even let you go.'

Jack sighed. 'Fine. Remember that Alitalia flight that crashed? My colleague was on it, and I have reason to believe he's being tortured as we speak. I'm going to get him out.'

Filipov's mouth fell open; he closed it in a hurry. 'You wish to cross the mountains and walk unarmed into a militant stronghold?' he questioned incredulously.

'That's about it, yes,' Jack agreed.

'Oh shit. You'd never make it through the mountains.'

'I have GPS…'

'It won't show you the areas of loose rock, or the hidden mines. And unarmed…'

'Not unarmed,' Jack said.

'Oh, I see. Ivan's selling you something. But still, you won't make it. You'd need a guide familiar with Afghanistan and…A little part of the Pakistani border!' He stared at Jack, his excitement rising. 'How can you know your colleague is alive?'

'Satellite showed him tied in front of some mosque,' Jack admitted. 'That's the last we saw of him. Mr. Filipov, you must excuse me, I'm running out of time.'

'You are,' the Russian agreed, collecting his jacket. 'Let's go get your stuff from Ivan and I'll get my car. I'll drive you part of the way.'

* * *

The door opened abruptly, Ali entering to yank Michelle out. 'Move,' he snapped as she struggled vigorously, kicking him in the knee. 'Bitch,' he yelped, ordering a guard to secure her.

Rita rushed after them, forcing him to stop. 'Where are you taking her?' she demanded, her voice thrown back by the surrounding walls.

'To your son,' Ali replied, giving her a shove. 'Useless bastard is too sick to talk.'

The blood froze in their veins as they stared at him, Michelle forgetting about the guard's hands on her arms. 'What's wrong with him?' she demanded.

'He has typhus. Rashid decided the sight of you might pull him from his delirium long enough to speak.'

'Wait,' Rita begged, her maternal instincts fully aroused, grabbing his arm. 'Typhus is serious; it should be treated with antibiotics immediately. Please let me go to him, I'm a nurse.'

Ali shook his head, motioning to the guards to move Michelle. 'Not yet. Rashid wants the wife first. You're next; if he decides her life is unimportant.'

'I'll help him,' Michelle assured her, leaning on her stick as the men pushed her forward. 'Is it infectious?' she inquired, aware of her woeful lack of knowledge of the disease.

'No. It's passed by fleas that live off rats. You succumb quickly to infection should you be in a weakened condition. Keep his fever down, give him plenty to drink and bathe his rashes. Ali, do what you like to me, but give my son antibiotics. Please.' She met his eyes, shuddering at the emptiness within them. Wordless he pushed past her, a guard forcing her back inside the women's chamber while Michelle was bundled into a car.

_An infection spread by rats' fleas._ Michelle frowned in concentration, attempting to recall a history class about some epidemic caused by rats, black ones in particular. 'The plague,' she gasped, horrified.

Ali shook his head. 'There is no plague in the mountains. In India yes, not here! Typhus is not so serious.'

'It is to the victim,' she retorted, preparing herself for the sight of a desperately sick Tony. 'You've got to get him medicines, Ali. Your own people will be the first to tell you Tony's important. They'd shoot you if you let him die.' Her words struck a chord with Ali, whose frown deepened. 'You know I'm not lying to you,' she continued, pressing her point. 'You haven't discovered anything yet, and you've been questioning him for three days now. They'll execute you as a traitor soon.'

* * *

Jack's hand tightened round the Kalashnikov as the car slowed just outside the drab town of Vrang, pulling over before a soldier. Filipov threw him a quick look. 'Put it away, you won't need it,' he assured him, stepping out of the car. 'Dobri dyen,' he greeted the young soldier, pulling out his card.

A long argument in Russian followed, the soldier shaking his head vigorously, Filipov gesticulating in the direction of the mountains, both sides refusing to back down. Jack clutched the gun, fingers itching. There was no way he would be turned back at this stage; Tony's life depended on him arriving in the immediate future.

Filipov returned, poking his head through the window. 'This is not a legal border crossing,' he informed Jack, who nodded impatiently. 'He is reluctant to allow us to enter Afghanistan - however…Have you any dollars on you?' He gazed hopefully at Jack.

'Yes,' Jack said, pulling out his wallet. 'How much would he need?'

The soldier appeared and Filipov pushed the wallet closed in a hurry, handing him a hundred dollar note. The soldier's eyes lit up before he stared in the car, holding out his palm. 'Two hundred,' he said in heavily accented English, eyeing the car's occupant hopefully. Jack handed him another hundred and the soldier nodded his thanks, pocketing the notes in a flash. A short burst of talk followed and Filipov nodded, starting the engine.

'We can drive only another forty kilometers, before we reach the Pakistani border,' he translated, driving rapidly. 'After that you must walk, and forget about the trails, they're all mined!'

'All the trails?' Jack questioned in dismay, aware of the difficulty of climbing over bare rock face.

'Not all of them, no. Most of them.'

'Could you give me a map?' Jack begged, determined to reach Tony in a hurry.

'A map on paper, no. There is no map,' Filipov assured him with his customary fatalistic shrug. 'The map is in here.' He pointed to his head. They studied each other in silence before Filipov spoke. 'Your colleague will not live long, if they humiliated him in public. They kill after that. You shouldn't waste time.' A silence ensued as he parked the car by the side of the track. 'I always wanted to move to America, Mr. Bauer,' he began, startling Jack. 'Thing is, I get rejected every year. They don't want me.' A pained look crossed his face. 'You sort out my visa, find me a nice warm place with no mountains, and I'll recall my time in this miserable dump and get you all the way into Pakistan,' he concluded, leaning against the car.

* * *

Ali entered first, flashlight in hand, shining it on the man who lay curled into a tight ball, face against the stone floor. Michelle paused in the doorway, horrified. 'Tony,' she whispered, pushing past Ali in her haste to reach him. He showed no indication of her presence, his skin burning to her touch. 'Ali, get him something for the fever right now,' she demanded furiously, rolling him over. Shaking hands reached for his pulse, before she gasped, bile flooding her throat. 'What have you done to his hands?'

Ali shrugged. 'I'll let you clean him up,' he told her. 'Once he comes round, explain to him that unless he cooperates with us, we'll kill you.' He smiled at her as he left, his teeth gleaming.

Hot tears spilled from her eyes as she removed Tony's clothes, noting the myriad red rashes covering his stomach. His back was too badly lacerated to note anything other than deep slashes covered by dried blood. She dabbed them with the clean cloth they had handed her, cleaning it off as best she could, each finished area revealing dozens of slashes across each other. She suppressed her sobs with difficulty, concentrating on speaking to him softly, whispering sweet nothings, begging him to open his eyes.

'I can't, sweetheart, they're too swollen,' he muttered, startling her. Dropping the cloth she threw herself across him, distressed by the whimper her action generated.

'Tony, I'm so sorry,' she apologized, her curls brushing his neck. 'Sweetheart, what did they do to you?'

He stirred beneath her, searching for her hand. 'Just about everything,' he muttered, burying his head deeper into her lap.

The door opened and she felt him tense, his heart rate increasing. She wrapped her arms round his neck, brushing his cheek with a hand. 'Leave him alone, Ali. I won't let you touch him again!' she warned. She would rip him apart barehanded were he to approach Tony.

'Fine by me,' Ali agreed, eyeing them enviously. 'Like you said, I'd be in trouble were he to die without informing us of the access codes. Mr. Almeida, listen to me carefully. You're very sick, you'll die without medication. I'll bring you some and let you join the rest of the passengers if you give me the codes.'

Tony remained silent, trembling under Michelle's touch.

Ali frowned impatiently. 'If you don't talk, I'll punish your wife,' he decided, grabbing Michelle by an arm and jerking her to the door. 'Rashid. Take her outside and whip her. I'll bring him to watch.'

Her heart skipped a beat as she attempted to claw him. He moved, slapping her across the face, her head slamming against the door.

'No. Wait.' Tony stirred, unable to rise.

They paused, the silence stretching. 'You ready to talk, Almeida?' Rashid asked breathless.

'No Tony, you can't!' Michelle cried in alarm.

'Take my wife back to the compound this minute,' Tony whispered, his instruction clear despite his inability to raise his voice above a croak.

'Tony, you can't be serious?' Michelle begged, scratching Rashid as he attempted to push her from the room. 'You…'

'Go, sweetheart. Go home right now, it's an order,' he gasped, eyeing her meaningfully. She stared at him, narrowing her eyes. 'Go home,' he repeated clearly as she was dragged from the room.

The outer door slammed behind her and the reluctant guard dragged him over to the chair, depositing him a little more gently. 'It starts with C,' he began, forcing his brain to work for a final few minutes.

'I got it,' Hassan told him. 'What's next?'

'Numbers,' Tony said. '1993467 B.' _B for bullshit. Enough shit to keep you occupied for a coupla days! _He prayed Michelle would understand his instructions and leave that day, whatever it took.

'It's asking for a password,' Hassan said, eyes sparkling in triumph. 'Dog?'

'Vacation,' Tony muttered, telling himself he could close his eyes and rest in another minute.

Yells of triumph kept him awake as all three men bent over the computer. 'You done good, dog,' Hassan told him. 'I'll give you a sheepskin to sleep on and something for that fever.' He clapped Ali on the shoulder, exchanging smiles.

'You said you'd take me back to my family,' Tony protested.

'As soon as we got everything,' Ali promised. 'We might need to ask something. Your family is quite safe, I assure you.'

* * *

Adam hastened over to Tech one, bending low over Gael's console. 'We just received the C code,' he whispered urgently. 'The data's being accessed as we speak.' Anxious eyes searched his colleague's as Gael confirmed his findings.

'Aha,' he muttered, lips narrowed. 'Tony's at his end. He's bought his family an extra day, two at the maximum. I'll call Jack on the sat. phone. He'll need to hurry. Adam, this stays between us, right?'

Adam nodded indignantly. 'Of course. I'll get back to work before Alberta comes looking for me.' They shared a long suffering look and he left Gael alone in the semi darkness.

He called Jack waiting patiently for his answer. 'C code's been activated,' he informed him. 'Hurry, Jack.'

Once he hung up he found himself unable to concentrate on the mundane task scheduled for the day, giving in to his urge to pace the room. Dozens of memories of trips to the Almeida house filled his mind as he returned to the console, found the C code and pressed the delete button, removing all trace of its activation. Once it was done he leaned against the wall, pressing his eyes shut, praying Jack would arrive on time to save anything.

The phone's repeated ring pulled him back to the present. 'Ortega,' he answered, hoping desperately it wasn't Alberta. For a moment it appeared his hopes were realized. The voice that demanded to know what the hell was happening at CTU definitely wasn't female. 'I'll go find her, Mr. Chappelle,' he promised, pausing as the irate boss snapped a final order into the phone. 'Yes sir, I'll be there too.'

Gael rolled his eyes as he set off in search of Alberta, who was bound to be in some obscure corner of the office hassling people on their coffee break. _So Chappelle's on his way to CTU. And he wants to speak to YOU as well as Alberta._ He stopped before the door, fingers wrapped round the handle, picturing himself in both the older blue prison uniform and the newer fluorescent orange one. _Blue's better. Face it Ortega, orange is not your color! _He groaned under his breath.

* * *

Tony sank onto the sheepskin they had provided shivering. Someone threw a second skin over him and he buried his face inside it, seeking oblivion. Yet again he was interrupted, this time by Hassan returning with a tin mug of water and three white tablets. 'Open your mouth, dog,' he instructed. 'It's been decided you're quite useful. I brought you two aspirins and some antibiotics.' Tony ignored him, reveling in the feeling of warmth spreading through his limbs.

Hassan gave a cluck of irritation and forced his mouth open, placed the tablets in and poured water after them. Tony was left with no option but to swallow them all before they left him alone after prizing his mouth open and poking inside.

Once they left he pressed his eyes tighter together. He had a duty to protect Michelle but right then opening his eyes proved beyond him. The utmost he could manage before he lost consciousness was a prayer begging for her safety as she attempted the breakout and another prayer that the terrorists would take at least two days to realize they were being fed false information. The world dimmed as he slipped away.

* * *

'He's dying, Marco,' Michelle said, her eyes searching the yard anxiously as she had flagrantly disobeyed the order to keep to the women's half and had crossed defiantly to speak to him. 'He told them something, I only hope it wasn't anything vital…He said we should go today.'

Marco nodded, his hand fingering the knife below his shirt. 'Are the women prepared?' he inquired rapidly, noting the arrival of several armed militants.

She nodded hurriedly. 'As well as they can be.'

'Get them inside,' he snapped, turning to face an indignant Ali.

'What the hell are you doing here, bitch?' he snapped outraged, grabbing Michelle by her hair.

'You let her go, Ali, and deal with a man, unless you're too cowardly to fight like one,' Marco snapped.

Ali stared at him shocked before he lunged towards him, abandoning Michelle. Marco withdrew the knife in one fluid movement, amazed how well his training returned to him and plunged it into Ali's stomach. 'That's for hurting my son,' he said, pushing the horrified Michelle behind him as he snatched Ali's gun.

Gunshots rang through the courtyard, the walls throwing back the sound. Passengers screamed and fell on the ground while Marco took aim and blew three militants away in quick succession, his mind blank.

'Alright, go,' he snapped, noting extra men race from the walls. 'Get the women moving. I'll cover you.'

'What about?' Michelle began, reluctant to leave him.

'Go now,' he snapped, his tone so identical to Tony's that she jumped into action, yelling at the women to follow her. To her surprise they obeyed without question, racing across the courtyard to the gate left open by the surprised militants. Quite a few men joined her too, having decided it was more prudent to run. She hastened along leaning on her stick, cursing her leg.

'Keep moving to the mountains and wait for us,' she yelled, forced to admit she was unable to keep up the pace. She slowed, Rita joining her to offer support. 'Rita go, I'll join you,' she begged, aware the men could shoot Marco any second and would be free to pursue them.

'I will not,' Rita exclaimed indignantly. 'Wait. Shh.' She grabbed Michelle, forcing her back against the wall as a man hurried past without noticing them. Michelle nodded her head at his gun, slamming him across the back with her stick. Rita grabbed his rifle before he was able to rise.

'Shoot him, Rita,' Michelle whispered, noting him stagger to his feet and head towards her, arm outstretched. 'Shoot him!'

Rita hesitated a second longer, never having fired a gun in her life. Michelle's frantic instructions echoed in her ear as the man approached, eyes narrowed. Her heart beat faster as she recognized him as the one who had brought Ali the whip to hurt her husband. Squeezing the trigger she fired a round, blowing a hole in his thigh. The rifle fell from her shaking hand as she stared at the writhing body in disbelief.

Michelle hobbled over, lifted the rifle and slammed him over the head. 'It's better this way,' she said to her shaken mother-in-law. 'I'm going back to help Marco. We got another rifle.'

'Sweetheart, no! Your leg is hurt,' Rita protested.

'Marco's going to need back-up,' Michelle replied, and they crept back, Michelle taking out another two men from behind in quick succession. The remaining two turned to search for the new source of fire, taken out by Marco who sheltered behind the open door of the kitchen.

'Marco, it's over. We got them. Come out,' Michelle yelled, Rita stiffening beside her. 'He's okay,' she whispered to the trembling woman. _He's okay because he's gotta be!_

'Marco, come out,' Rita pleaded, heading past the rows of fallen bodies without noticing them as anything more than obstacles in her desperate search. 'Marco, where are you?' Hot tears worked their way down her face.

'Querida, I'm coming. It's okay, I'm fine. They didn't get me,' he called to her in Spanish, taking her into his arms. 'It's okay now,' he repeated, stroking her hair.

'I shot someone,' she whispered to him in disbelief. 'Marco, he was coming for the rifle…'

'You did great,' he assured her, hugging her tighter. 'Look how many I killed.' He gazed at the scene of carnage in disbelief, turning her face into his shoulder to shield her from the view.

'They were all dangerous,' Michelle told him, having understood part of that final sentence. 'They were terrorists,' she repeated, tugging his arm. 'We got to go, there'll be more soon.'

Marco nodded, disentangling himself from his wife's arms. 'Sweetheart, listen to me. I'm going to get Tony. You two start heading into the mountains and wait for us.'

'I'm coming with you,' Michelle said in a hurry, clutching her rifle.

Marco shook his head gently. 'Under normal circumstances I'd welcome your help, but your leg is broken, sweetie. It'll take you long enough to just get up to the mountains. Besides, the rest of the group is unprotected. Gather a coupla rifles and take them. The more firepower we have, the better. They're not just gonna let us leave.' He hugged his wife tighter, his fingers massaging her head. 'Go now, honey.'

'I'm so scared,' she admitted, clinging to him for a final second, terrified she would never see either him or Tony again.

'Have I ever let you down?' he asked, tilting her chin. A moment passed between them, two pairs of brown eyes moistening. Michelle swallowed a lump in her throat, wishing she and Tony would feel as close after whoever knew how many years of marriage. 'I'm not gonna let you down now either, sweetheart. I'm going to find our son, and we're all going home together!' He deposited a final kiss on her forehead before he turned and hastened from the gate, heading towards town, the rifle clutched in his arms.


	22. Escape

Marco rubbed his icy fingers together to keep his blood circulating in the cold. Cramped and uncomfortable he watched the sun sink below the mountain peaks, casting lengthening shadows through the settlement. 'About time,' he muttered restlessly, his eyes on the building Michelle had described. It had taken him roughly two hours to reach the settlement and he had noted its activity, deciding it was prudent to seek a hiding spot and wait till darkness drew the citizens indoors. The pile of rubbish he had hidden in stank of animal and vegetable remains, plenty of broken stone and glass among it. He sighed again, telling himself he had another half hour at most before he could enter. At one stage the door had opened depositing Hassan and he had sighed in relief, glad to confirm it was indeed the correct building. He shifted position, rubbing his cramped legs. The beauty of his surroundings lost on him he focused on the nearest peak, following it till a cloud hid the summit, imagining the purity he would discover up there. It was bound to be covered with a cleansing white snow, washing away the evil he had been forced to participate in down below in the valley. Once again he prayed for forgiveness. Michelle was right when she had comforted him by insisting they were all ruthless terrorists. They had shot down a passenger airliner, murdered the pilot in cold blood and starved them, but they were human beings that he had in turn massacred. Sitting in the gathering twilight he doubted whether he would ever gain forgiveness for his deeds, ever kneel in prayer and rise with a clear conscience. _You're no better than they are, Almeida. The moment your wife and son were threatened you turned into a savage, just like them. You blew their brains out when it might have been enough merely to wound them and leave it up to the hands of their local doctors to determine who lived and who died. Instead, you decided it for them, killing everyone that moved._ Hand pressed over his mouth he shivered, ordering himself to forget his actions temporarily. The day was not over yet, he would torment himself some more once he had the luxury of safety to contemplate his deeds. Right now he had to prepare to take out yet more people and collect his son.

The final rays of the sun dipped below the mountain range and the world went dark, reminding him of his childhood on his father's farm. He rose silently and crossed the street, ears pricked for movement. For a moment he was reminded of his own youthful escapades of climbing through the window of his dormitory in boarding school with his friends to share the illicit pleasure of a swim in the local river. Not the cleanest river in the world, but hell, those midnight swims were among the greatest pleasures in his teenage life until the night that ill tempered policeman had flashed his headlights onto them…

Reaching the other side of the street without mishap he slid noiselessly by an entrance and over to the 'jail' where he turned the handle, unsurprised to find it locked. He rapped authoritatively on the door, rifle aimed. The louder you knocked the more legitimacy you appeared to have, he had discovered ages ago. Quiet hesitant knocks tended to be ignored, while a wholehearted thumping was sure to bring the householder to answer. True to his expectations the door was opened wide by an unsuspecting local he had never seen before. Marco pressed the rifle into his head and entered the room behind him.

'Where is my son?' he demanded in a harsh whisper. The man threw him a terrified look, his eyes large. An obvious idiot, he concluded wryly. 'The American,' he snapped.

The man pointed to the door at the other end of the room, eyeing the rifle. 'Unlock that door,' Marco snapped, pressing the rifle further against his skull.

It appeared the guard understood his orders despite a lack of English. Shaking, he lifted a key and inserted it inside a keyhole, revealing a pitch black room. Marco nodded his head at the flashlight on the desk and the man obeyed, turning it on. Rifle against his skull, he entered the room, pushed into the most distant corner where Marco pressed a rag into his mouth and forced him to cuff himself. Satisfied, he dragged the figure bundled into the familiar skins out, locking the militant in.

'Tony,' he whispered urgently, unwrapping his son from the tight cocoon he had created. Hearing no response he knelt down, shocked into silence. Watery brown eyes blinked at him in the dim light, his face swollen and burning hot to the touch. 'M'ijo, can you hear me?' he asked gently, looking around for some water.

'Yeah,' Tony whispered unintelligibly as his swollen tongue failed to move.

'Okay,' Marco whispered, ruffling his hair. 'Drink this.' He raised Tony's head gently, holding the tin cup to his lips. 'Tony, we've got to get out of here now. Can you walk if I help you?'

Shaking from his high fever, he shook his head. 'No. Gimme the rifle.'

Something in his eyes sent a chill through his father, who removed it. 'Oh no. No, Tony. I'll get you out.'

'Papa, how far would you get? Go now and help mom and Michelle. Just shoot me first. Please.'

Marco knelt beside him carefully, slipping an arm round his shoulders. 'You're tough, Antonio. I know this sounds cruel, but you're going to walk out of here with me. We go home together, or we both die here.'

'You're crazy,' Tony gasped, pain from his slashed back forcing him to grit his teeth.

Marco collected the rifle, the mug, the flashlight and a bottle of water he discovered on the desk, helping Tony to the door after his second search of the desk failed to reveal any medicines. 'Seeing you're delirious, m'ijo, I'll let that remark go,' he said softly, blinking back his tears. 'Come on, your mom and Michelle are waiting.'

* * *

Jack wrapped the sleeping bag round his chilled body, breaking open a ration pack which he was forced to eat cold. Of course he had had dozens of such meals before but rarely alone and never at such an extreme altitude. The Russian's request for a warm flat state no longer surprised him as he munched in silence. He thought of the man who had brought him that far, admitting that he had in fact crossed the border several times during the Afghan war to scout around. Filipov had proved unusually entertaining, teaching him more about the various inhabitants of the region than hours of top secret reports could have done. They had parted company an hour ago, the Russian reminding him to do what he could for his visa application.

Jack answered his sat. phone, greeting an obviously stressed Gael. 'Bauer. What's going on back there?'

Gael's sigh carried over the phone clearly. 'Same as usual since Alberta came. She's poking her nose into everything. Chappelle was here yesterday afternoon. I got news for you, Jack. You're fired. He actually told me to let you know!'

Jack stared at the phone in alarm. 'How the hell does he know where I am?' he demanded, finishing the last morsel and debating whether to open a second pack. 'Did you tell him?'

'Of course not!' Gael hissed. 'We're entering jail together, remember, to watch each other's backs! No, I sat there and listened. He called the Canadians, the British and then the Russians to find you. Last I heard, some Russky in Moscow said the guy in Dushanbe was also missing. Did you kidnap him?'

Jack snorted in indignation. 'Me? No, he was keen enough to come along as my guide. He's quite a character. His name is…'

'I know his name,' Gael interrupted.

'Good. Do me a favor, would you. Run through the INS records and find out why his visa was rejected.'

Gael's eyes opened wider. 'You gotta be kiddin'!' he exclaimed.

'I said I'd do what I could for him. He refused money, and judging by his clothes, he would've needed it. He's got a useful knowledge of the area. He done military service in Afghanistan. We could use him. Find out what part of the application he bungled and correct and resubmit it!'

'Hah,' Gael muttered, nodding his head. 'You got it. How far along are you?'

Jack read out the exact coordinates and Gael grinned for the first time. 'Jack, you're practically there! You're already in Pakistan! You've only got three mountains between you and the compound.'

Jack groaned, his eyes on the majestic peaks. '_Only_ three,' he repeated. 'I'd rather cross the wildest ocean than these three mountains. They just come to these halts where the only way down would be with a parachute, and you gotta go back and try someplace else!'

* * *

Rita moved, her maternal instincts identifying the distant figures before her eyes could do more than distinguish two dots working their way up the slope. She raced to meet them, stumbling over loose gravel, her tears of relief lit by the rising sun, causing them to glitter as diamonds. 'Tony, sweetheart.'

Marco laid him down taking her in his arms. 'He's unconscious, querida. I had to carry him the last hour. Take a look,' he begged.

She felt his face, noticing his damaged hands in horror. 'Oh God…'

'I know, sweetheart. That can be fixed,' he assured her, nodding his head at Tony's rashes. 'Look at those. Look at his back.'

Rita cried as they took him between them, struggling under his weight as they climbed to the cave the others had sheltered in. 'He needs medicine and rest,' she gasped. 'He'll need to stay put till he recovers, or he'll die. I'll stay with him.'

'We'll all stay with him,' Marco told her as they entered the cave, Michelle throwing herself into his arms. 'Look who I brought,' he told her gently, depositing Tony in a quiet corner. He sank onto the ground beside them worn out, enjoying her joy.

One by one their fellow passengers moved cautiously to take a peek at Tony who lay unconscious in a sheep skin, oblivious of everyone including Michelle. The all night walk had pushed him beyond the point where he could force himself awake, despite his father supporting him. His breathing was slow and shallow, his fever rising until Rita removed his clothes and washed him with water from a deep puddle. Once again the passengers crowded round, cries of horror at his injuries echoing from them, though they refused to take the cloth and dip it in the water as they remained unconvinced typhus was not infectious.

'We should go now,' a man said, gazing at the surrounding mountains impatiently. 'They'll come after us.'

Marco rose, wearily. 'Tony needs to rest a day, probably two. This place is secure enough, we got the water we need and a few plants to eat. I can't go.'

'You're staying with him?' someone inquired incredulously.

'Sí. I'd need a few of you to stay too, to help him once his fever has gone down. He won't be strong enough to walk by himself.'

They threw him pitying looks, shaking their heads. They were terrified of the terrorists and refused to wait, expressing regret at their decision.

Michelle's face darkened as she stared at the group, longing to grab the rifle and hold them at gunpoint. 'We got you out,' she began, outraged. 'Tony saved some of your lives when he persuaded Ali to let us carry the injured rather than have him shoot you by the plane. He saved you on the plane,' she turned to the stewardess who avoided her gaze. 'You can't just abandon him when he needs you!'

It appeared they could. In the end the pilot offered to stay but Marco refused, insisting he was the only one among the group who had any knowledge of mountains. They left the moment the outraged Michelle was persuaded to lower her rifle, winding their way up the mountain face heading north. The Almeidas watched them leave depressed beyond words.

'Looks like we're on our own,' Rita remarked as they moved out of sight.

'We always were, querida,' Marco told her, wiping her tears. 'Come on sweetheart, where's the toughest girl in college? Rita Torres would never have been fazed by a camping trip in some mountains. As far as I remember, she was the wildest, most fun loving girl I'd ever met.'

Rita smiled through her tears, pressing her face into his shirt. 'I wasn't a mother yet. I didn't have a son who's dying in a cave.'

'You don't have a son who's dying in a cave,' Marco argued, squeezing her hand. 'He's resting. He'll be okay honey, he's tough. We won't let him go.'

Michelle folded her arms, glaring at him. 'I would've made them stay!'

Marco shook his head. 'Sweetheart, we got two rifles. Together, they got nine.'

'What are you saying?' she asked, forcing him to voice his concerns.

'Just that when the worst comes and life is threatened, people change. It's every man for himself. They were prepared to mow us down had you remained in the entrance.'

Michelle chewed her lip, agreeing with him. 'Let them go. We'll be better off alone,' she muttered, throwing her rifle forcefully against the rough floor.

They spent the day fussing over Tony, taking it in turns to lower his fever with the icy water. Marco volunteered to act as lookout, sensing the need of the women to keep Tony company. Rubbing his eyes he stared at the road beyond the curve of the mountains, noting nothing more startling than a stray dog wandering the road in search of food. 'How's he doing?' he asked as Rita appeared for more water, risking a glance away from the road.

'The same,' she replied tiredly. 'He'd need antibiotics.' She stared round at the silent peaks, shaking her head at the sight.

'What's the chance of recovery with it?' Marco asked softly, returning his gaze to the road.

'I'm not a doctor, but I think it's about even in a healthy individual. Tony was starved and beaten…'

'Tony's extra tough,' he assured her, risking another glance in her direction. 'Hey, sit here with me a minute. Let Michelle have a little time alone with him.' He drew her into his arms, remembering to keep his eye peeled on the road.

'What were you thinking about?' she asked softly, desperate to think of a topic other than Tony's struggle for each consecutive breath.

He turned to face her, aware of the need to cheer her. 'That my old sergeant's comment about me being the most useless soldier he ever saw, ever even _heard_ about, was uncalled for!' Their eyes met as he hugged her tighter against him, stroking her hair. 'He'll be okay, Rita.'

She shook her head, a cascade of tears spilling from her eyes. 'He's dying as we speak.'

Marco gazed at her shocked, refusing to accept it. 'He really needs antibiotics that badly?'

She nodded, wiping her eyes. 'He should've had it a long time ago. It might not even work anymore.'

'What about penicillin?' he questioned.

Rita stared at him in despair. 'Where would you get that from? He's allergic to it, anyway.'

Marco rose and wandered over to a nearby rock, pointing to a patch of mold. 'Never heard of anyone allergic to natural penicillin. It's not as strong as the real thing, but I know some people used it back home…'

His wife leapt to her feet, staring at it. 'We'll have to try. Bring as much as you can get.'

Hopeful eyes met them as they entered the cave. Michelle lay beside the tortured body of Tony who remained deep in delirium. Their heads lay side by side, her auburn curls spilling over his white face, her eyes wet.

'Hey, look what we found,' Marco told her, determined to offer hope. They watched in silence while Rita pounded it with a rock and slipped it into the tin mug adding a little water to the mixture.

'Tony, sweetheart, open your mouth,' she said gently, stroking his hair.

Marco raised his head, while Michelle slid her fingers into his mouth, pulling it open. 'Tony, please just swallow this,' she whispered. Rita poured the drink down his throat while Michelle held her breath, terrified it would go the wrong way and choke him, but their homemade medicine went down without mishap.

'He needs to sleep,' Rita told them, and Marco took it as his cue to squeeze Tony's arm and return to his outpost, while Michelle settled beside him, falling asleep herself.

* * *

It was warm and quiet, so silent he could hear his own breathing. His keen hearing picked up her rhythmic breathing beside him. _She's here with you, Almeida. She'll be ordering you up soon…_He cast about, struggling to think what day it could be and whether he had to go to work, reassured by the darkness that he had several hours of sleep before he needed to move from the cozy bed. A bitter taste filled his mouth; he swallowed in a vain attempt to get rid of it. His throat constricted and ached. _Must be getting the flu…_He sank deeper into the rug, hearing footsteps approach.

'Tony, open your mouth a moment,' his mother begged, brushing his hair from his forehead. 'It's time for your medicine, sweetheart.' _Mom's here!_ Somehow he accepted the information without questioning it, focused on his breathing which was strangely hard work. Why had he never found it such a chore to breathe before?

'Marco, come here for a minute. I need you to raise his head and open his mouth,' his mother whispered softly. _Whose head, whose mouth?_ A moment later another set of footsteps approached him and cold hands burrowed under his neck, raising his head. A hand pried his lips apart.

'How are you feeling, Antonio?' his father asked, obviously worried. 'I'm ready, sweetheart.' Bitter liquid flowed down his mouth, the taste making him gag. 'I know, m'ijo, it tastes bad, but it'll help you. Can you open your eyes?'

Tony forced his eyelids apart, blinking in the sight of his anxious parents hovering above him, Michelle asleep beside him and an outline of a cave's mouth. Squeezing his eyes shut he attempted to process the unusual sight, drifting off before he could begin to succeed. The last thing he was aware of was his mother kissing his cheek, insisting he was going to feel better the next day. He slept soundly, dreaming he was being fed some bitter herb a few times.

Things were a little clearer the following morning. He opened his eyes to discover Michelle gone, while his parents slept beside him, pressed together under the one rug. The cave he lay in was the same as the one from his dreams, faint sunlight pouring through the opening. His hands were bound in some cloth as far as his wrists, each individual finger attached to twigs. A sharp pain in his back caused him to wince as he propped himself up on his elbows, the events of the previous few weeks returning to him. _Dammit. The rest of the group abandoned us. They fled for their lives as they're aware Ali will follow us to hunt us down, and your family stayed to protect you._ Nagged by guilt he stumbled to the opening, shielding his eyes.

He appeared to be roughly halfway up a steep mountain, a narrow trail leading downwards, winding round a bend and out of sight, the valley far below them, graced by a stream or river, the thin trickle of water gleaming in the sunlight. Above him the mountain peaks ranged against the clear blue sky, snow capped at their summits. Tony sank onto the path, legs dangling over the precipice, awed by the view. Apart from the narrow trail there was no other evidence of human habitation as his gaze searched the surroundings. Lulled by the peaceful scenery he shut his eyes, enjoying the sun's rays on his face.

'Tony.' He smiled without opening his eyes, turning his face in the direction of her voice.

'I'm here, sweetheart.'

Michelle settled beside him, pulling him back from the precipice. 'Don't sit so close to the edge honey,' she admonished, slipping an arm round him. She felt his face, satisfied to discover it slightly cooler than the day before. 'You look a lot better already,' she encouraged. 'How do you feel?'

'Like I died and woke up in some paradise,' he admitted, resting his head against her shoulder.

'You came real close to it, to dying, I mean,' Michelle told him, her voice shaking.

Tony nodded, the chirping of thousands of crickets merging with the sound of her shaky breath. 'I know,' he muttered, pulling her closer. 'It's okay now honey, I'm fine!' He paused while she snorted, smiling an assurance at her. 'Really!' Noting her dubious expression he laid his elbows on the ground and struggled to his feet. 'See. I'm ready to go home!'

'Sit down before you drop,' she exclaimed, pulling him down by his arm much to his relief as the path dipped alarmingly around him. 'You need to rest, honey. This place looks real peaceful but let me tell you Hassan isn't far away. You need to regain your strength as soon as you can.'

Tony bowed his head, studying the thin grass around the path. 'I know that, sweetheart. We need to get moving while we're still able to.'

Michelle frowned anxiously, refusing to meet his eyes. 'He won't find us here.'

'Oh yes he will,' Tony protested, sliding a bandaged hand under her chin. 'He'd discover this cave the moment he walked past it!'_ She's aware of that, Almeida. Look at her face, you can read her like a book. You're obviously too sick to attempt a journey across the mountains yet, and she's prepared to give her life to defend you right here while you recover._ As though she shared his ability to read his thoughts she dropped her gaze, her eyes searching the mountains. 'You gotta keep moving, sweetheart. I'll wake mom and get her ready as well.'

'Nobody's going anywhere,' she replied heatedly, turning to glare at him. 'We stay together, Tony!'

'Honey,' he began using both palms to turn her to face him as his fingers were unable to bend. 'I'll catch up. Trust me, I got no intention of getting captured by those guys again, but I stand a much better chance alone. I'll find someplace to hide if I see them. You MUST go now, your leg is broken, you'll need the time to get ahead.'

They glared at each other, neither willing to back down. 'I'm staying, Tony,' she said at last, nodding her head at the rifle beside her. 'I got the gun!'

His shoulders drooped in defeat as he realized that whilst he would certainly succeed in making a grab for the rifle she left so carelessly beside her, he was unable to use it with his broken fingers. 'Michelle,' he began, searching his brains to find a reason compelling enough to get her to leave him. 'Listen to me.'

She shook her head, laying a hand over his mouth. 'There was something about "in sickness and in health", remember? I meant that promise.' She rose before he could protest, the rifle safely in her arm. 'Get back to bed, Tony. You're distracting me!'

To his chagrin he required her help to get to his feet, the rifle prodding him back into the cave. 'Get some sleep and let me keep watch.' She helped him settle in the rug, her lips pressed against his. 'I'm not letting them take you again, sweetheart.'

Tears filled his eyes as she tucked him up, pressing her lips against his.


	23. Mountain Storm

Michelle entered the cave hesitantly instinctively looking around for Marco. She blinked in the gloom, struggling to see Tony's figure curled under the rug, his breathing steady. _At least he's improving. Come on Michelle, something's gotta go right!_ She chewed her upper lip, uncertain she should disturb anyone, but the conditions outside worried her.

'Hey,' Marco said, joining her silently. 'Do you see anyone out there?'

She shook her head, tiptoeing back into the strangely dim sunshine. 'The weather's changing,' she observed.

Marco stared round the silent mountains, his face grave. 'I see what you mean.'

'Is it just mist?' she asked doubtfully.

He gave a facial shrug, shaking his head. 'Sweetie, you're speaking to the wrong man. We have high mountains at home but I never visited them. The only mountains I spent time in were down south, and we didn't go too high up. This place is entirely different. It could be mist, or it could be an approaching storm. I wouldn't know the difference.'

'Maybe that's why we haven't been pursued,' Michelle guessed, voicing her bewilderment at the lack of a search. 'They could've heard some weather forecast.'

'You're probably right,' he agreed, eyeing the encroaching mist uneasily. 'Listen, sweetie, just to be safe, I'll fill this bottle with water now.' She nodded, sitting back on the designated look-out position to continue her search for all moving things, but the valley was strangely silent. The insects no longer chirped and the birds appeared to have vanished. Nothing stirred beyond Marco who filled their bottle, his eye on the northerly mountain peaks. 'Time to come inside, sweetie,' he said, returning to join her once the bottle was deposited within their shelter.

She shook her head in protest. 'What for? They could creep up on us any moment. Someone must keep a look-out. It's not even cold yet. There's no wind.'

'It's coming,' he said uneasily, brow furrowed. 'I can smell it.'

Her eyes met his and he threw her an apologetic look. 'Can't explain it any better, I'm afraid. Come inside now, Michelle.'

'Ali's men could still be out there,' she protested again, following him in.

'They won't be, trust me. I just hope this cave will be adequate to keep us alive,' he muttered, and for the first time since she had observed the unusual mist an icy feeling of dread crept over her.

'Are we in any danger?' she inquired, brushing the thought away.

Marco glanced at her, shaking his head. 'No, sweetie,' he replied, the need to protect a woman paramount in his mind. _Wish you'd be sure of that, Almeida. You haven't even got anything to place over the mouth of this cave to keep the wind out._ He paused at the mouth, eyeing the disappearing valley. _At least the cave faces south._

'Marco,' Rita said, joining him, slipping into his arms. 'What's wrong?'

'We got an approaching front,' he explained, pulling her closer to him. 'It's gonna get a little cold querida.'

She sighed quietly, snuggling closer against him. 'Just when I thought we had a chance,' she whispered.

'Hey, we'll get to spend a little time together, that's all. Something to tell our friends about back home, a Himalayan storm,' he comforted. 'With tales like these, we'll be dining out for years.' They grinned at each other, reading the love from the other's eyes. Whatever awaited them would be faced together, each protecting the other with their last breath. Watching them, Michelle felt like an intruder.

Tony stirred, woken by the cold. Puzzled, he forced his eyes open searching for the source of the dismal howling that appeared to have no origin. It echoed within the cave, drowning out the voices of his family, the whine reverberating through his skull. He pushed himself onto an elbow. 'What's going on?' he inquired groggily.

'A mountain storm, m'ijo,' Marco told him, wrapping him back into the sheepskin. 'Get some more rest, Tony. We're as secure from pursuit as we'll ever be.'

Tony lay back, frowning at the roof above him. 'A storm? Could last for days,' he observed tiredly, his body craving rest. 'Do we have enough food?'

'We'll last,' Rita assured him, kissing his forehead. _We haven't got as much as a single bite, sweetheart, but we'll pull through. We haven't got any other choice._ She settled beside him brushing his hair back over his forehead. 'Go back to sleep.'

His eyes closed despite his urge to keep them open, Michelle's pale face the last thing he saw. Summoning his remaining strength he opened them again. 'Wait a minute. Just how prepared are we?'

'Get some sleep, Tony, before it gets too cold,' Michelle begged, cuddling beside him.

'We're as prepared as any group of people fleeing for their lives without food or clothing can be,' Marco pointed our wryly, aware his son would no longer rest. 'We're gonna be pushed to our limits, m'ijo.'

Tony blinked to clear the swaying world, holding an arm towards Marco. 'Help me up.' His father complied, to the disapproval of both women and helped him over to the mouth of the cave where they observed the swirling snow in grim silence. 'Okay, rule one: no going outside for anything, not even to the mouth of the cave. We got zero visibility and we'll fall over the ledge if we try. Two. We'll huddle together for warmth and ration our water. Three. The snow will build up; we'll dig ourselves in, make a kinda igloo. Once that's done we'll be sheltered from the wind. Understand?'

They nodded, marveling at the Marine that had re-emerged. Tony's eyes sought Michelle's. 'Sweetheart, you're not to leave this cave, promise?' She nodded reluctantly, aware what he referred to. 'Alright,' he muttered, settling as close to her as he could and slipping his arm round her. 'We wait it out.'

* * *

The storm caught Jack unprepared as he sheltered in a shallow cave. Equipped with a rucksack of food and medicine, and dressed for the harsh mountain conditions he fared better than any of the group. Cursing the weather he called CTU to demand updates, but Gael had nothing to report besides a long lecture from Chappelle who appeared ready to place the blame for his rescue attempt on anyone including Alberta. It had been a stormy meeting, Gael's irritated tone indicating he had not yet settled down. Jack advised him to distance himself from the lecture and continue with his work. The temperature dropped sharply once the full brunt of the wind struck, covering his surroundings in ankle-deep snow within hours. Jack could do little beyond watch.

He set off the next day once the weather cleared, lugging his rescue equipment on his shoulders determined to reach the camp. He was several yards from his cave when Gael called him with disturbing news. The camp showed no signs of habitation.

'Dammit, Gael, you gotta give me more than that,' Jack snapped, sinking to his knees in a pile of snow. 'Where did they go?'

Gael narrowed his eyes. 'I can only take an educated guess based on what we see – you understand I could be way off?'

'We're running out of time, Gael. Tell me what you know,' Jack snapped, rejoining the track with difficulty.

'We got two groups in the mountains. One has over a hundred individuals, the other only four. We can't be certain they're even human, but the larger group appears to be wandering aimlessly…'

'It'll be them,' Jack guessed. 'Wild animals don't hunt in such large packs. I need their location Gael. I'll work my way to them.'

'Yeah,' Gael agreed, reading him a set of coordinates. 'I'll keep you updated on their location. Do you need the location of the stationary group?'

Jack studied the path before him deep in thought. 'Why not? It could be some of them were left behind.'

* * *

'It appears we were fortunate,' Marco observed, ankle deep in snow. 'The storm's over.'

'This one - yes.' Tony frowned in concentration as he studied the route they had taken to the cave. 'Hassan will be here soon. He had a whole day's start on us. We must go today, Papa.'

His father nodded. 'I have to agree. Are you strong enough to face such a hike, Antonio?' Steady brown eyes met his seeking to draw the truth of his weakened condition and weigh the chances of his survival.

'You guys wouldn't consider leaving me behind?' Tony inquired.

'Not for a moment,' Marco assured him. 'Either we all go, or we all stay.' He glanced carefully at his son.

'I'm ready to continue,' Tony said quietly, eyes fixed on the snow. 'I can't promise I'll move fast, but I'll move.'

'No one will move fast through this snow,' Marco predicted, squeezing his shoulder. 'You sure you can do this, m'ijo? We could always barricade ourselves…'

'Without food? That would be pointless, Papa. No – we gotta go today.' He organized them into a line, his father ahead pushing a path through the snow followed by Michelle and Rita who would support her, and he stationed himself in the rear. It would require every ounce of self discipline to stagger along behind them but he would do it, just as Michelle would. Failure to move would mean death by a number of possibilities each grimmer than the one before - death by exposure, death by starvation or death by execution should Hassan catch up to them. The thought of the last eventuality froze the blood in his veins as he struggled after his family. He would crawl on hands and knees to keep ahead of the man if necessary, or throw himself over a cliff, anything to avoid further interrogation. Weak from typhus and his torture he stumbled behind Michelle, amazed at her stoicism.

'You're doing great, sweetheart,' he told her as they paused for what he suspected was a rest for his benefit. 'How's your leg?'

'Okay.' She said nothing more and he slipped his arm around her, aware how exhausted she was struggling on one leg. 'How are you coping, Tony?'

_Ready to lie down in the snow and die, sweetheart._ 'I'm fine,' he said firmly, managing to look her in the eye. _I'm as fine as you are!_ Worn out, she leaned against him with closed eyes, allowing his body to support her weight.

'I love you, Tony,' she whispered.

Heart warm, he pulled her closer. 'Me too, sweetheart. You're the only reason I'm still moving,' he admitted softly.

They continued their trek downwards, Marco testing every inch before him by placing his foot down hard. Miraculously they reached lower ground without mishap, staring at the fiery red snow as the sun sank behind a peak. 'We should seek shelter,' Tony reminded them and set off determinedly, forcing another half hour of struggle from his body.

Their efforts to find shelter were fruitless. Faced with no other alternative they spent the night outdoors in the snow, huddled together in their thin clothes, stamping their numb feet and flexing their fingers. Rita checked Tony's bandaged hands regularly as he was unable to move them. Their sheepskin was wrapped round him and Michelle as he lost the battle he had waged the entire day and fell asleep.

'You still think we'll make it, Marco?' Rita asked softly, her voice coming over to him in puffs. 'We haven't eaten for four days.'

'Humans can last around six weeks without food,' he reminded her, hugging her.

'In a hospital, yes. Not out here in this snow. I'm not sure how the children will cope tomorrow,' she admitted. 'Tony pushed himself way beyond his limit already. He's not well at all and he's in agony. His hands are swollen. And Michelle's good leg must be cramped from hobbling on it.'

'We must move a little further, querida,' he insisted, stroking her hair. 'The moment we'll find a village I'll go and steal some food.' He chuckled, shaking his head slightly. 'Last thing I stole was an apricot off someone's tree when I was in high school. Still, I guess I proved I'd do anything to keep this family safe.' He fell silent, fingers working through her hair.

'What are you thinking about?' she asked softly, aware he was in turmoil.

'I killed twelve men, querida. They were all Tony's age, some younger.'

'We had no other choice,' she told him quietly. 'You can talk to someone about it when we get home, honey.'

Marco shook his head swiftly. 'That won't undo it, Rita. I'll just have to live with it.' The look he threw her was empty.

'You'll feel better once you go to Church…'

'I can't go there again, querida. I don't deserve to be allowed in,' he said, his tone flat. 'I killed people, and I'm not even sorry. If they catch up to us, I'll kill more. How can I walk into Church and lie about feeling regret, when all I feel is emptiness. And here's the worst part. I know I'd do it again anytime someone threatened you or Tony, or _any_ of our other children.' He glanced at her from the corner of his eyes, studying her pale face. 'I'm just a machine now, sweetheart, nothing more. I don't feel anything!'

Tears filled her eyes as she drew him towards her. 'Now you listen to me, Marco Almeida. You saved our lives when you killed those men. How much longer do you imagine they would've kept so many useless foreigners? No longer than another few days. No one will blame you for what you did.' He gazed at her dully, shaking his head. 'Weigh it up, sweetheart. You killed twelve and saved over a hundred. That's gotta count for something.'

'I killed twelve,' he repeated monotonously. Wordless, she squeezed his hand, determined to speak to Tony the moment she got her first chance. He had been in combat dozens of times and would know what to tell his father. 'I always thought I'd see Papa again someday,' Marco continued, his voice so low she could barely hear it over the breeze. 'I even had stuff I was going to tell him about.' He shook his head hopelessly. 'I'll never get to do that now, querida.' She stroked his fingers, a tear sliding unchecked down her cheek. 'I really miss him,' he admitted, even quieter. 'I never got a chance to say goodbye…That's why I didn't go home for the last three years. I pretended to be too busy, but it wasn't that true. I just couldn't face going home and not seeing him there.'

Rita wiped her face with a frozen hand, turning to face him. 'We'll go back together, Marco. Once we get home and check the others, and wait for Tony to recover we'll go back. Just you and me. We'll stay as long as you need to.'

* * *

As prepared as possible mentally, Gael nevertheless jumped as Alberta laid a hand on his shoulder. He cursed himself, turning to face her with a resigned expression. 'You needed something, Alberta?'

Her smile was chilling. 'Mr. Chappelle's here. He'd like to speak to you,' she informed him, searching his face intently. 'He seems convinced that you're aware of Jack's whereabouts.'

'Alberta, I haven't the time for this,' he protested with feigned indignation. 'I'm running behind…'

'Naturally, as you're devoting the majority of the day to guiding Jack through the mountains,' she said sweetly. 'Now Gael, you've got a chance to admit you're helping him and get fired now, or continue to lie to us and face the consequences. I assure you those won't be pleasant!'

_You're busted, Ortega!_ 'For the hundredth time, Alberta, I'm not hiding anything from anyone,' he insisted.

She nodded. 'Mr. Chappelle's upstairs. He wants you right away.'

Gael rose obediently and headed towards the stairs, diverting at the last moment for a quick trip to the restroom, where he sent Jack the coordinates of both groups as he had last copied them five minutes before and added a hurried line that he was about to be busted. Once the message was sent he headed down the corridor, depositing the sat phone in the store room for want of a better place, straightened his shirt and climbed the stairs to the office reserved for visiting dignitaries from Division. _Play it cool, Ortega. They've got no evidence whatsoever._ Drawing a deep breath he tapped on the door.

'Come in,' Chappelle snapped, his nasally whine grating on Gael's taut nerves. 'Shut the door and sit down.'

Gael obeyed, heart hammering.

'I understand you're married,' Chappelle began, his eyes boring into the depths of his soul. Bewildered, he nodded. 'You have children. I commend you on that – raising a family is no easy challenge these days. You'd have schools to pay for; sporting lessons, other activities…that takes money and commitment. Do you enjoy providing for your family, Gael?'

'Yes sir,' Gael agreed, dreading the rest of the discussion.

'That's good,' Chappelle told him. 'I'm going to give you a chance to continue to do so, Gael. Your children are quite young; it would be a real shame to have them grow up without a bread winner. Where's Jack now?'

'Sir, I have no idea,' he said, telling himself it was the strict truth. At the present moment he had no knowledge of Jack's precise location. _It's not a real lie, Ortega._

Chappelle nodded. 'Your loyalty is to be commended. How is Almeida?'

Gael's eyes widened. 'Sir, he was kidnapped by some group…'

'Don't give me that, Gael. You and Bauer spent hours in his office together. Just give me the number on his sat phone. This insubordination will stop today.'

Gael shook his head slowly, returning his scrutiny. 'Mr. Chappelle, I would help you if I could. I had no idea of Jack's plans, and have even less knowledge of his whereabouts. If I knew anything, I'd tell you.'

Chappelle shook his head. 'Tell me Gael, who are you protecting? Bauer or Almeida? Trust me, neither of them would return that loyalty. I'm going to have my systems people take a look at all communications from this building and we'll find what we need. You'll spend that time in a holding room.'

'Sir, I got that much work,' he protested, knowing it was futile.

'You're officially suspended pending our investigation. You're throwing your life away needlessly, Ortega. Escort him to holding room two,' he told the burly security guard.

_You're wrong, Ryan. It's not needless. Tony's in real trouble, he sent a plea for help. He done enough for you already that you won't ignore that. And you're wrong about his loyalty too. He'd do the same for you were the situation reversed._ Unemotionally he rose and followed the guards down the stairs and along the corridor, where he entered the holding room alone. Resting his head in his hands he pictured his family. _I'm real sorry._ He pressed his arms to him wondering how he could explain his actions to Teresa.

* * *

Jack studied the final coordinates and set off towards the larger group cursing Gael's removal. Without the location of the passengers he would be forced into a game of hide and seek in the mountains with the distinct possibility they would pass him without his knowledge, or the worse scenario of his running into the militants. Heartily sick of the constant climbing he was forced to do he pushed himself onwards determined to reach the group. Tony had sent the C code – he was in trouble. He had faced torture and had been unable to hold out any longer. How the passengers had escaped he didn't know, but one thing was certain, Tony was not in a good condition. At best he would be weak and badly hurt…At worst sick or dead.

He struggled on, dismissing the thought. Tony was alive, he had to be. He was alive because of the sheer fact of the passengers escape directly the C code had been activated. Somehow he had ordered them to leave…No matter how battered he might be, he had sent them word.

Jack paused, eyeing a precipice dangerously close to the path. Tony had certainly faced torture to make his capitulation appear more believable, so he was bound to be hurt. There was a chance the passengers would help him move – there was an equal possibility they would abandon all the injured. If he were in fact too weak to move with the group, Michelle would stay with him as would…Jack swore aloud, pulling out the last coordinates he received from the smaller group of four. They had made substantial progress in the last day, slower than the larger group but progress nonetheless. He had no way of knowing whether the slower progress was due to them being weaker than the rest, or whether the paths were worse in that region. Had he been able to contact Gael he would have checked the conditions of the route. Without that ability, he turned his steps towards them.

The larger group had spent the previous day walking in a valley, climbing gradually. According to the coordinates, the smaller group was close behind. If they maintained their heading they would intercept. He moved faster, determined to reach them.


	24. Chappelle's Decision

Tony paused, turning back along the path. Sheer rock rose on his left, a bottomless crevice on his right as he frowned in concentration. An eagle soared above the little group throwing a shadow momentarily over the path, as silent as the mountains. Grey clouds blanketed the sky threatening further snow. A hand laid on his arm pulled him from his reverie.

'You okay, sweetheart?' Michelle asked, concerned for his slowing pace.

Tony chewed his lip, aware he was holding up the entire group. 'Yeah,' he said, his gaze retracing their path.

'So what's wrong?' she demanded, not to be shaken off. 'What's behind us, Tony? Can you hear anything?'

He shook his head, turning to face the others. 'No honey.' _You can't hear anything, Almeida, it's as silent as the grave, but they're closing in on you. You can sense them! Best move it._ He grinned at her, nodding forwards. 'Let's keep moving.' Michelle sensed something despite the lightness of his tone and grasped her stick, struggling onward. Head spinning with dizziness he followed, cursing his inability to help her.

They stopped to consider their position a little further, Marco unsure which path to choose. The walk through the lower slopes was sure to be easier on all of them but he saw signs of habitation and was wary of drawing further attention to themselves. They would be safer remaining where they were provided the path actually led anywhere rather than merely to the edge of a precipice. 'What do you think?' he inquired, moving aside to allow the others to examine the terrain.

Michelle chewed her lip, eyeing the valley longingly. Her leg ached from the constant movement, her hand was rubbed raw leaning on her walking stick and she was exhausted as well as terrified Hassan would catch up to them. Using all her self control she turned towards the higher path. 'It's safer that way. Shorter too.'

Tony slipped his arm round her, marveling at her stamina. He himself longed to curl up in the nearest available cave and sleep, after eating a good dinner, naturally. The sight of smoke rising from the distant huts reminded him none of them had eaten for four days. 'She's right, Papa. It's safer and shorter this way.'

Marco nodded, eyeing them intently. 'Alright, we'll move a little further. We need to find some shelter real soon and have a little break.'

'Papa,' Tony began, joining him.

'I know, m'ijo. I've seen you looking back a couple of times already. Stands to reason they're following us, but if we don't take a break you and Michelle will keel over. That wouldn't help us either. Tell you what. Take the lead; find a cave and hole up. I'll join you all later.'

'Where are you going?' he demanded, afraid he knew the answer.

'I'll bring us a little food,' his father explained. 'We need to eat, Tony. There's no way we'll get through another few weeks without food.'

'And what if they capture you?' he demanded, terrified at the thought. 'Papa…'

'They won't,' Marco replied firmly. 'I'll be in and out, trust me. Just find us some shelter.'

He turned, working his way down the path. Tony watched him with aching heart, desperately worried about him. Michelle and Rita rested further up the path, obviously waiting for him. Tony forced his emotions aside and followed them, his eyes searching the cliffs for an incline. Less than half an hour later he found a small cave, motioning them inside once he'd determined it was empty.

The air was chilly in such high altitudes despite the lack of wind. He left their mug outside to guide his father and sank onto his knees at the back of the cave too weary to speak. His bones ached from the sickness, his back stung, each breath reminding him of his whipping. Taking care not to use his hands he lowered himself to the floor, shutting his eyes. Michelle settled beside him rubbing his arm, whispering sweet nothings into his ear.

'Tony, let me put the rug under you,' Rita said gently, hating the need to disturb him. Carefully she helped raise him, sliding the rug beneath him and Michelle. 'Get some rest. I'll keep an eye out for Marco.'

Tony drifted off, wishing the pain would disappear while he slept.

* * *

Marco entered the first shed, filling a sack with a few vegetables and a handful of logs before he crept to the henhouse. He pushed open a door, hearing birds stir uneasily on their perches. He spoke to them soothingly as he selected the largest hen. Just as in his childhood he grabbed it expertly, hands over its beak and hurried it out. It was bound to be missed in the morning, but seeing that Hassan was behind them he was hardly betraying their position. He knocked it on the head stunning it temporarily as he crept from the settlement. A silvery moon lit the way back to the mountains as he rejoined his family. 'I need that sharp knife, querida,' he said, entering the cave.

Tony stirred, his eyes opening wide at the sight of the live hen. 'Papa…'

'They know all about us anyway, Antonio. We're going to eat well tonight.'

'Are we eating that?' Michelle questioned foolishly. 'But it's, it's still alive.'

'Not for much longer, sweetie,' Marco assured her, taking their sharpest knife.

'You're not going to kill it, are you?' she exclaimed, a little shocked.

Marco bit his lip, nodding.

'You better believe it,' Tony told her, amused. 'How are we cooking it, Papa?'

'I brought some wood. Start a fire. I'll be back directly.'

Michelle struggled to her leg, groping for her walking stick. 'Tony, he'll hurt that hen.'

'Sweetheart, he won't. He's done it before. Come here, Michelle. Every chicken I cook has to be killed, you know that.' He glanced at her gently, willing her to relax.

'But at least it doesn't look at you,' she protested, hungry and sick at the same time. 'And what is he going to do with the feathers?'

'He'll pull them off, don't you worry about that!'

'You feel sick first, I know,' Rita said, slipping an arm round the white faced Michelle. 'Just don't look, honey. Oh, here he comes.'

Despite herself she was unable to resist a stare at the beheaded chicken, its feet dangling down Marco's back. Her stomach heaved and she clutched Tony's shoulder, humiliated. _Get a grip, Michelle. People have been doing this for thousands of years. You're starving, you need to eat._ Somehow, she knew roast chicken was not going to be on the menu once she returned home for an extremely long time, if ever. _Pull yourself together this minute. They're going to think you're an idiot!_

Tony tightened his arm about her cursing his inability to use his hands. Never before was the need to squeeze her hand more acute, and he was left with nothing beyond pulling her onto his lap. 'It's okay, sweetheart,' he muttered soothingly, aware her leg was in agony.

'Michelle, come here sweetie,' Marco said a few minutes later, holding out his hand. I've removed the feathers and disemboweled it. It's like a chicken from the shop now. Let's cook it.' His soothing tone relaxed her and she hobbled over to the fire to join him as he pushed the chicken through a large stick and held it over the flames. 'Pity we've only got a little wood. Normally I'd build a spit, but I just couldn't carry anything else up here.'

'You done great,' she praised, highly relieved at the sight of a 'normal' chicken roasting over the fire. 'Thanks. I don't know how much further I'd have gone without food.'

'I don't know how much further any of us could have gone without food,' Marco told her gently. 'Mind holding this a minute, Rita? I'll be back directly.'

Tony followed him outside, watching him collect the head and the feathers and bury them beneath a rock. A little snow was thrown over the blood and Marco nodded, satisfied. 'How's that, Antonio?'

'Great. You know, I can't think of anyone in the world I'd rather have on such a trip than you, Papa.' _I really love you._ He moved restlessly, wincing as the t-shirt rubbed his back.

'Hang in there, m'ijo. They'll give you something for the pain soon,' Marco encouraged, squeezing his shoulder. 'Come on, let's get some chicken!'

* * *

Brad Hammond entered Chappelle's office, puffing from the climb. 'Got a minute, Ryan?' he inquired, seeing his colleague appeared occupied with little more pressing than the morning paper.

'Sure,' Chappelle said, nodding his head at a seat. 'What's up, Brad?'

Hammond settled, the chair creaking as it took his weight. 'How much longer is CTU to be run without a director?' he inquired, the question justifiable. 'Alberta's got way too much on her plate without running there all the time.'

'You got a point,' Chappelle agreed.

'Fact is, the place is doing less each day now that Bauer is also absent. We should appoint a strong person to run the place, someone who'll pull the departments together and remind people who they're working for. Half the group appears to think they're working for Bauer or Almeida personally, rather than the U.S. government!'

Chappelle nodded, aware of the strong sense of loyalty CTU's leaders enjoyed. 'You're right, Brad. I thought we'd give Bauer another week to return with Almeida, and should he fail to do so…'

'You're delaying yet again, Ryan. Fact is, Clive's more than ready to take over. He's looking for a position as director right now. He's thinking of San Francisco, but his talents could be put to better use right here. He's more than capable of pulling things together.'

Chappelle nodded. 'And you'd doubtless miss him were he to move, Brad.'

Hammond scowled. 'Are you implying I'm biased in my selection, Ryan? Sure he's my nephew, but he's proven himself capable in Oregon…'

'No one's implying anything,' Chappelle soothed him. 'Fact is, we must give Almeida another fortnight to return. After that, the position goes to Clive.'

Hammond left well satisfied. His nephew was to be promoted Director in charge of CTU and would foster a much more workable relationship between that department and Division. He poured himself a scotch, celebrating his nephew's fortune.

Chappelle sighed and returned to his car prepared to interrogate Gael personally. That he was aware of the whereabouts of Bauer was certain. He would confront him with the sat. phone they had discovered in his locker the previous day. Doubtless after a day of solitary confinement with full sensory deprivation he would be more than willing to talk.

* * *

They devoured the chicken and a handful of vegetables between them, mouths watering. No chicken he had ever eaten had tasted half as good as the one they had all taken turns cooking (with the exception of Tony), who had been forced to contend himself with watching it roast, swallowing in anticipation of the feast. Unable to use his hands to feed himself he was forced to rely on Michelle tearing a few pieces apart and placing them in his mouth. 'Didn't last real long,' he observed wryly once the last scrap had been sucked from the bones. 'That hen wouldn't have had any siblings by any chance, Papa?'

Michelle grinned, a lot happier since her stomach was free of the gnawing hunger. 'Did you notice a twin, Marco?' He grinned back at her, shaking his head.

'We should get some sleep tonight. We leave at dawn, before the rightful owners of that hen come visit us,' he said lightly, resulting in a giggle from Michelle.

'Oh they can visit,' Tony remarked, also a lot happier since the meal. 'We'll say thanks. I might even have a dollar. Remember that poem about the fox grabbing the grey goose, mom? He left a dollar too!'

Michelle shook with silent laughter while he grinned at her pleased with his ability to cheer her. 'We made mom read that poem over and over again. Eventually she just showed us the pictures and recited the whole thing. I caught her at it when she forgot to turn a page!' He exchanged warm grins with Rita. 'I guess we should get some sleep. I can take sentry duty tonight, Papa.'

'Forget it,' Marco said sternly. 'You're still sick, Tony. You got fever.'

'I can stay up.'

'Get your rest. Tomorrow will be hard if this path keeps winding uphill. Sleep now, Antonio.'

Tony nodded, hating his poor condition. He rose from his spot beside the dying fire, a sharp pain slicing through his back. Its unexpected sting caught him by surprise causing him to curse aloud. His family surrounded him seconds later, lowering him on the rug. 'Let me see your back, sweetheart,' Rita ordered, removing his t-shirt as slowly as possible to avoid causing him further discomfort.

Michelle's gasp confirmed what he suspected. The t-shirt was stuck to his back where an exceptionally deep slash had reopened. Shivering in the cold he raised his eyes to meet his mother's. 'It's okay, mom.'

'No it's not,' she replied in a shaky voice. 'I'll melt a little snow to wash off that blood, sweetheart. Stay beside Michelle.' She left and he turned to notice the temporary relaxation caused by the festive air over the meal had left her eyes. Michelle face reflected their grim reality yet again.

'It'll heal, sweetheart,' Tony said gently, desperately hoping he was right. 'It's already a lot better…' The failure of his words of encouragement was evidenced by a slow course of tears running down her cheeks. He pulled her into his arms, his head resting on her shoulder. 'Hey, sweetheart. You're in as much pain as I am, don't think I've forgotten.' She shook her head, her curls brushing his face. 'Michelle, we got away with our lives. In the end, that's all that counts,' he said softly, wishing yet again he had the use of his hands. 'We'll get some treatment at home and we'll be fine, and we'll have fun recuperating together. We'll finally have the time to watch all those soppy movies…'

Michelle snorted indignantly, temporarily distracted. 'You telling me you're offering to watch all my newest romantic movies with me, Tony?'

He nodded firmly. 'You got my word on it,' he promised. 'It's not as though I can bear to let you outa my sight, honey.'

Her smile melted his heart. 'I love you, sweetheart.'

'Me too, honey.'

She stirred restlessly. 'You seem so sure we'll get home,' she said tiredly. 'We got some awful mountains to pass, and Hassan and his men to evade, and we're out of food…'

'It'll be okay, sweetheart. You'll get to pick the movies, it's a promise.' _You're getting home whatever happens, sweetheart, I'll make sure of that_.

* * *

Gael squeezed his eyes shut against the intolerable brightness a normal light caused after 36 hours of sensory deprivation. Lacking the ability to open them he focused on his sense of hearing instead, counting around two men in his room. Something was laid on a table and a person settled on a chair after scraping it along the floor. The other person took up position beside the door. An interrogator and the customary security guard, then, he assumed correctly.

'Open your eyes, Ortega. The time for games has passed,' Chappelle's icy tone informed him. 'We found the sat. phone in your locker yesterday. I'm certain Bauer also took a sat. phone and that you've been in contact. Now tell me how I can get in touch with him and I'll overlook your indiscretions.'

Gael blinked, his eyes watering.

'The camp is now empty. We no longer have the option of terminating Almeida should he be broken. We have no idea of his whereabouts, so the only option we are left with is to make certain Bauer makes contact. The situation is serious now.'

Gael stared at him struggling to read anything from his expression. 'He'd get to the group a lot faster with our guidance.'

Chappelle nodded. 'I need to get into contact with him immediately.'

'You're actually authorizing CTU to assist Jack?' he questioned dubiously.

'I'm a realist, Ortega. We must. We have no other alternative.'

Gael studied him in silence for a few seconds, noting the anxious set of eyes gazing into his own. He nodded, making up his mind. 'I'll get you in contact with him,' he promised, 'in exchange for being reinstated as of this moment.'

'You can't be reinstated, Ortega as you were never officially suspended,' Chappelle pointed out wryly. 'Now get me in contact with Bauer before I reconsider.'

* * *

_One more step, Almeida, just one more. Keep moving, one foot before the other. Just one more step…_

'Marco, wait,' Michelle called, her voice echoing by the sheer rock face that loomed on their left. 'Tony's falling behind.'

_You're slowing them down again, Almeida. You deserve to be tossed over that precipice. Hassan and his men are closing in on you._

They stopped, Rita pushing him down. 'Take a minute, sweetheart.' Anxious eyes searched his as she summed up his condition. _He's reached his limit. He's beyond it, in fact._

Tony read her face as easily as he had throughout his life, throwing her a warning look. _We both know I'm failing, mom. Keep it to yourself for a bit longer, okay, until we catch up with the rest of the group._ He had no logical explanation for his desire to rejoin the group. They had abandoned him to his fate once before, yet the thought of joining them kept him struggling onward, a step at a time. "You gotta set yourselves reachable goals," his instructor had explained back when he first joined the Marines. "Don't attempt to conquer the entire desert alone. Take it settlement by settlement."_ Just find the rest of the group._

Rita hugged him round the neck, the only part of his body that wasn't ripped apart, stroking his hair. 'Sit as long as you need to, Tony.'

He shook his head, struggling to his feet. 'They're closing on us. We gotta keep moving.' His eye flickered to the precipice, the move noted by his father who pulled him forward.

'You're walking up front with me, Antonio. The path's a little wider here. Lean on me.'

_So I can slow you all down further?_ He shook his head, eyes lowered. _They gotta dump me if they wanna hope of getting out of here. They're never going to do that voluntarily…_A strong arm encircled him pulling his body forwards.

'Antonio, I'll take you. Let's move, m'ijo. If they get any closer to us we'll hole up and take them out. We're armed,' Marco urged, pulling him forward.

'Papa, they won't all approach from the same angle, they'll fan out….'

'We got this far, Tony. Do you imagine I'll let them capture us again?' Marco shook his head. 'I don't ask for much, no help, nothing, only that they let us leave peacefully, but if they insist on preventing that….I'll bury them here, if I must.'

Tony searched his father's face, noting a new grimness in his expression that the stress of raising a large family had failed to produce. He threw him a questioning look.

'I killed twelve men, Antonio. A few more – what difference can it make now? I overstepped the line days ago.'

An icy hand squeezed Tony's heart as he pondered his father's words. 'Papa, you surely don't think what you done is unforgivable?' he questioned in disbelief. 'We had no choice. Either we took them out or we sat down and waited for them to dispose of us anyway they saw fit. It was self-defense.'

Marco blinked hurriedly before he averted his gaze, helping him along in silence.

An icy wind that blew steadily from the north slowed their progress as they were forced to move closer to the rock face to avoid being blown over the precipice. Swirling snow further added to their discomfort as they moved ahead, aware from the tension in Tony's face that their pursuers were not far behind. No one spoke as each concentrated on survival, Rita helping Michelle, and Marco dragging Tony who lost the remaining strength for a single step further. 'Papa, it's not working…' Tony began, desperate to convince his father of the need to protect the two women and guide them to safety.

'I'm not leaving you, Antonio, so save your breath,' was his only reply.

Tony cast a glance further behind to the two women momentarily out of earshot. 'You must. You're as aware of it as I am.'

'M'ijo, your mother and I spoke a while back, when I rescued you from Hassan. Neither of us will abandon you. You're supposed to outlive us, or we all die together, but we won't let you go first. Accept that.'

Tony let out a sigh of frustration. 'Alright, I understand the need to protect me, I'm your son. I get it, I really do. But have you considered Michelle? She needs help as much as I do and she's got a real chance of makin' it outa here!'

Once again Marco averted his gaze. 'You are our son, Antonio. Our primary duty is to protect _you_. We will do everything to help Michelle, but ultimately your survival is paramount as far as we are concerned. It sounds awful, I know. Please understand us. I was there when you were born, and I took you out in the hall while they fixed your mother up, and I made you a promise that day. I was not going to allow anyone in the world to hurt you. I know you got hurt in the Marines, I wasn't there to help you, but I'm here now and that promise stands.'

_At least you know where you got your stubbornness from Almeida. It goes beyond logic, beyond commonsense, beyond reason. It comes from his heart, not his mind…_ He forced himself to stand upright. 'I'll walk a bit, Papa.' _You just demonstrated sheer obstinacy, Papa. I got plenty of that myself…_


	25. Nightmare Descent

Michelle peered through the gloom, her lowered voice urgent. 'They're coming. I saw them.'

Marco rose immediately, shaking Rita awake. 'We got to move now, querida. I'll get Tony.' He shook Tony, dismayed to feel his face considerably warmer than the day before. 'Antonio, get up.'

Tony forced himself up, sensing his returning fever through the unsteady cave around him. He stumbled outside, nodding his head at the snow. 'Rub a bit on my face, mom.' Rita bent and collected a handful of freshly fallen snow and rubbed some on his face and arms, aware their dire situation called for unorthodox methods of lowering fever. Tony leaned against the cliff, shivers racking his body.

'Are you able to move, Antonio, or shall we hole up?' Marco inquired, eyeing him dubiously.

'I'm able to keep moving,' Tony lied, images of what the men would do once they caught up with Michelle and his mother clear in his mind. Determinedly he took a step forward, sinking to his knees.

Marco pulled him up gently. 'I'll take your weight, Tony. Just move your legs,' he said urgently. They set off, stumbling through the snow, unsure of their destination; escape the only thought in their heads. A quarter moon lit the sky as they trudged along, their breaths in clouds around their faces. No matter how he strained his ears Tony was unable to hear their pursuers, the eerie silence only adding to his sense of urgency. _They might well have fanned out by now. Probably have, in fact. We'll be walking into an ambush._

'Papa, we must leave the path,' he said softly, pausing. 'They're already ahead of us. Trust me on this. It's the most basic maneuver.'

Marco winced, staring at the sharp precipice on their left.

'Not that way. We gotta climb,' Tony muttered, eyeing the solid rock face to their right.

'M'ijo, it's a climb of about forty feet. In the summer, with ropes and pegs and whatever else those mountain climbers have we might have a chance, but…'

'But we're going to do it now without any of those things,' Tony insisted. 'We all die if we don't. It's not that high and we'll get to another bit of path…' _And you're the most useless of the lot right now, Almeida, without the use of your hands…_ 'You guys better start,' he said softly, sitting on the path in defeat.

'Oh no. I'm not leaving you, Tony,' Michelle said immediately, sitting beside him.

'Sweetheart…'

'You're not getting out of watching those movies that easily,' she insisted. 'I'm not climbing up there without you.'

'None of us are,' Rita said.

'You're all wasting time,' Tony protested. 'You need to start climbing now.'

'I'll go first, feel out the handholds,' Marco decided. 'Tony, you're right behind me, then Michelle, and you're last Rita. You can give her a hand.'

He set off, mentally cursing every last inhabitant of the region. Once he found a rock that appeared to jut out enough to offer his feet a hold he began his climb, settling carefully. 'Give me your arms, Antonio.'

Tony chewed his lip, eyeing the rock before he raised his arms and allowed himself to be hauled up the first part of the cliff, digging his feet into the rock and pushing himself up to help his father. They sat together on the rock, beads of sweat trickling down his face. He was sick again. Should he make it out alive by some miracle, he would be hospitalized for several weeks.

Marco squeezed his shoulder encouragingly and moved upward, muttering to himself as he did when he was pushed to the limit. 'There's a spot where you need to take a little jump,' he called. 'Alright, Tony, your arms. Let Michelle take your ledge.' Tony raised his arms and was hauled to a tiny rock that supported his feet. 'M'ijo, I'm going to jump across now,' his father said softly. 'Hold on with your arms for a few seconds.'

Tony nodded, holding a rock above him with his arms, swaying dangerously. He squeezed his eyes shut feeling the world steady. 'Antonio, look at me. I'm going to need you to jump across to this ledge. Hold out your arm, I'll catch you.'

He blinked gazing at the path far below them, Michelle and his mother one rock below him, pale faces turned upward. _God help me._ He reached out an arm, kicking himself off the rock, flying through the air. Marco grabbed him and hauled him across the ledge where he sank down exhausted. 'Well done. Michelle, keep moving. Tony, I'm going to need to stay here to catch everyone as they jump across. I need you to move off this ledge as it won't support three.'

Tony nodded, allowing his father to help him onto a small outcrop. He didn't need to be told to remain absolutely still. Anxious eyes followed Michelle's progress as she strained to heave herself up the rock, one leg dangling useless. Occasionally Rita pushed her upward. Marco held out his hand encouragingly and she jumped, chewing her lip. 'Well done, sweetie. Let me find you a place to rest up till Rita comes.'

The nightmare climb continued. Tony risked a glance downward and immediately cursed himself as the path they had followed was now little more than a silvery trail beside the bottomless chasm. Chewing his lip he stared upward, focusing on the handful of outcrops that remained.

An hour later they stood uncertainly on a higher path too shaken to speak. Tony gave them five minutes to rest before he forced himself to his feet. 'We gotta keep moving. If we don't pass them by dawn we're dead.'

They trudged onwards, Rita handing out the remainder of the stolen vegetables which they chewed. To Michelle, whose sole vegetable consumption had consisted of prepared salads with dressings it tasted bland, though under the circumstances she ate it with relish. The three Almeidas, used to a veritable quantity of vegetables with every meal chewed them contentedly. 'Have some more raw whatever?' Michelle inquired, holding out a piece towards Tony.

'It's called turnip, sweetheart. I'm sure you read the word on some salad ingredients,' he teased, opening his mouth to allow her to pop some inside. 'Have some more, it tastes good!'

Michelle paused, feeling his forehead anxiously.

'I'm not delirious, sweetheart,' he assured her, chuckling. 'It's healthy.'

'I won't argue with you on that one. Something with this kind of taste is just bound to be healthy,' she agreed. 'But under no circumstance whatsoever can it be called 'good.' It's bitter and strong.'

'Just eat it, sweetheart.' He paused, the world swaying around him again. 'I gotta sit for a minute,' he admitted.

They crowded round him, Rita insisting they all needed a rest while circumspectly feeling his cheek. His eyes closed in exhaustion and he leaned against her, his head on her lap. 'You want the last aspirin, sweetheart?' she inquired, running her fingers through his hair just as she had when he was a toddler.

Tony shook his head. 'No, save it. I'll be fine in a minute.' He wouldn't, and his words fooled no one, but they somehow cheered him up just hearing it. 'It's just this climbing up and down that tires me. No wonder the Grand Old Duke of York only had his men marching up a hill. Had he brought them here, they'd have deserted in droves!'

Michelle clapped a hand round her mouth to drown her peal of laughter. Rita nodded, her eyes betraying her amusement as she pictured the scene. Only Marco remained silent, gazing at them with the same patient bewilderment he expressed when the conversation turned to topics he failed to comprehend. Seeing his expression Michelle giggled harder.

'You never heard of him, did you, Marco?' she inquired, seeing him shake his head.

'I did not. What was this duke supposed to have accomplished on a mountain?'

'It was a hill,' she explained, her spirits surprisingly high considering their own dismal situation. 'He trained a professional army. It's a kids' poem.'

'Ah, one of those,' Marco sighed, leaning against a rock, a look of resignation on his face.

'Once back at boot camp we had this real bastard of a drill sergeant who marched us up and down a hill all afternoon, and I made some comment to a friend that the guy's nuts, he thinks he's that particular duke. Some other guy repeated my words to him and he got a little pissed off,' Tony remembered, eyes half shut, his head in his mother's lap.

'Oh no, Tony,' Rita said reproachfully, eyes sparkling with amusement. 'What did he say?'

'Oh, quite a lot, believe me, but it's not something I can repeat to you or Michelle! The gist of it was that since I like nursery rhyme characters he won't disappoint me, he'll act the duke for me. He dismissed the others and made me march up and down that blasted hill all night with a full kit.'

'What a bastard,' Michelle said with feeling, rubbing his shoulder. 'Weren't you tired, sweetheart?'

Tony's only response was a groan.

'Well m'ijo, if you were silly enough to upset a drill sergeant, you had it coming,' Marco told him kindly, reaching over to ruffle his hair.

'It's not his fault, honey,' Rita sighed. 'He gets that from me. I got into trouble for the exact same thing. I was around ten years old and we went to church. You know what my mother's like,' they all nodded sympathetically. 'She made us sit and listen, but my father allowed me to take an exercise book and pencil, and I could draw quietly. Now this once, I don't know what possessed me, but I remembered the nursery rhyme about the old woman in the shoe, and right in front of us sat Tia Rosa, you remember some of her grandchildren, Tony. She had twelve kids, and I just drew a shoe with all of them. I couldn't draw to save my life, but unfortunately I labeled each person, and somehow left that drawing on the pew, and she found it…She was real mad, gave it my mother…'

Tony shook his head in sympathy. 'It's a wonder you're still with us, mom,' he said softly.

'Well, if we're done discussing dukes climbing mountains and old women wearing shoes, we should get going,' Marco suggested.

They climbed to their feet with difficulty, every one of them suffering from blisters as their shoes were falling apart on their feet. Marco pulled Michelle up and handed her the makeshift walking stick. 'The duke never climbed the hill,' Michelle began, stopping when she saw Tony shake his head.

'Sweetheart, if Papa couldn't get that straight after raising all of us, you won't be able to teach him, trust me!'

'Antonio, don't stretch your luck. I am perfectly capable of memorizing things,' Marco insisted, struggling to keep a straight face. 'Michelle can explain all about this duke if she'll walk with me,' and he took Michelle's arm kindly, helping her along. She winked at Tony before turning to his father.

'You okay, sweetheart?' Rita inquired.

'Yeah,' he replied, surprised to discover it was the truth. _You're okay as long as you're with your family, Almeida. They just know how to keep you going. You might even keep your typhus at bay long enough to make it out of this Godforsaken country_.

* * *

Jack pulled out his sat. phone yet again to call Gael, his ears burning from the memory of his previous conversation on that phone with Chappelle on the other end of the line. His boss had started off inquiring what sort of idiot he imagined himself to be, threatened to fire him, to prosecute him, insisted he WAS fired, blasted him for being so foolish as to attempt to locate one man in such a vast mountain range, and ended up giving him the latest coordinates of both groups insisting he make contact as soon as possible. He prayed Gael would be the one to answer the call, sighing in relief when the familiar voice answered. Things were apparently much the same at CTU. Alberta continued to lord it over both departments, giving several warnings for late returns from lunch breaks the previous day. The smaller group of four appeared to be moving over a range almost parallel to the terrorists which unfortunately ended, as far as he could tell on the less than perfect satellite images at the edge of a chasm, leaving them effectively trapped. The larger group was in the valley just past the chasm. Had the chasm not been there, the two groups would have united sometime that day. Jack thanked him and swore aloud, increasing his pace.

* * *

Tony paused, hand to his mouth. They fell silent, gathering round him. 'What's wrong, sweetheart?' Rita whispered.

'I noticed a flash. I'm gonna crawl to the edge and take a look. Whatever you do, keep quiet!' He slid forwards noiselessly and peered over the ledge, counting a dozen armed militants roughly a hundred feet below. Chewing his lip he slid backwards, standing once it was safe to do so. 'Shhh.'

They crept onwards barely breathing, Rita carrying the walking stick, Marco carrying Michelle to avoid the slightest noise. Out on the higher path they were completely exposed. Each footstep was taken in great care to avoid dislodging a single pebble to betray their position. Over an hour passed before Tony halted them, creeping over the ledge to peer out. 'We made it. They're way behind.' Exhausted, he sank onto the ground. 'I just need five minutes.'

'Take all the time you need, sweetheart,' Rita said, feeling his forehead which was warm again.

'We gotta keep moving,' Tony protested, laying his head against her shoulder. 'They'll soon realize we overtook them. We're gonna be hunted all the way.'

'Surely they won't follow us into Afghanistan?' Marco exclaimed.

Michelle sighed, eyes studying the towering peaks. 'I think they might.'

'You can count on it,' Tony muttered wearily.

Five minutes later he forced himself to his feet, telling himself he had no choice but to keep moving. They followed the uneven path which narrowed at one point forcing them to move sideways, the edges of their shoes hanging over the cliff. Rita moved across in front, Marco behind her, a hand on each woman's. 'Just don't look down. We're in no danger,' Tony assured them. He was forced to sink onto his knees and attempt the journey of several yards that way, aware he had no chance of keeping his balance.

Yet again his fever rose leaving him weak and parched. Marco returned when he was less than a quarter of the way across, pulling him to his feet. 'Hang on, m'ijo.'

'If I were a dog, you would've tossed me over the cliff to put me out of my misery long ago,' he muttered. 'I'm slowing you all down…'

'You saved us all, Antonio. You predicted the ambush correctly, and you noticed their presence and warned us to be silent. We would've been recaptured by now. I need you to hang in there another few days.'

Tony nodded. 'You got it,' he promised.

He was less certain he would manage to keep his word two hours later when they reached the end of the track, a drop of several thousand feet before them. Tears filled Michelle's eyes as she sank down despondently, the thought of returning sickening her. Rita narrowed her eyes, glaring at the scenery as though willing each mountain to tumble down. 'Dammit,' she cursed. 'Just when we had a chance!'

Marco slid his arms round her soothingly, aware he would throw himself over the cliff were his family not depending on him for their survival. 'We've faced worse, querida.'

'When?' she demanded, pushed to her breaking point. 'When were we ever in such a hole? We never even came close,' she concluded.

'We gotta return,' Marco said quietly, admitting their failure to the entire group. 'We can't stay here.'

'Wait a minute. We passed this goat trail a while back,' Tony remembered. 'It was a little steep, but it was headed into that next valley…'

'Yeah, if you wanna commit suicide,' Michelle remarked, having noticed the dangerous trail herself. 'Short cut to hell, Tony!'

'Right now, we got no other choice. Either we stay here and freeze, or we go back and hand ourselves over, or we get down that trail. I didn't come this far to stop here. I'm gonna rest next to Abuelo…'

His parents' faces paled at his final sentence. 'No one's resting anywhere,' Marco decided, chiding himself for having admitted defeat.

'Sounds right,' Rita said bitterly, pulling herself to her feet and reaching forward to haul Michelle up. 'There's no rest for the wicked. We must be really bad to deserve all this!'

'Mom,' said Tony gently, moving beside her to slip his arm round her. 'I think…I don't feel…' He sank onto his knees, squeezing his eyes shut against the sight of the dancing peaks.

'Oh God forgive me, I didn't mean to sound ungrateful,' Rita cried, bending to feel his forehead in terror. 'Tony. You're hot again, sweetheart.'

Michelle tugged at his t-shirt, raising it to reveal his stomach covered by rashes. 'He's got it again.'

'It never really cleared up, sweetie,' Marco guessed. 'Do we have anything else?'

Rita nodded, opening their final aspirin. 'Open your mouth, Tony.'

'We should save it,' he protested.

'Sweetheart, you need to lower your fever if you've a hope of getting down that trail in one piece. Your father can't carry two.'

Tony considered the scene through the buzzing in his head_. "Can't carry two." Oh gee, he's got to carry Michelle. She hasn't a hope of making it on one leg. Focus, Almeida. You don't need this fever now. You're going to get down that trail in one piece…_He nodded, his head aching.

They set off twenty minutes later, reaching the hazardous trail an hour into their return journey. It stretched before them, overgrown in parts, an animal trail rather than human. Loose rock covered the surface, the entire area free of a single ledge. Michelle squeezed her eyes shut, her head spinning at the almost vertical descent. To her surprise the Almeidas gathered, heads bowed and prayed for divine assistance, rising with confidence.

'Alright, sweetie. You're with me,' Marco began. 'We'll go first, then Tony…'

'No, I'll lead. Trust me on this, Papa.' _This place is the only escape route…_

They began to move, Tony landing on hands and knees within minutes as the loose gravel gave way under his feet. He cursed in pain as his broken fingers hit the ground, eyes watering. He rolled downwards, unable to prevent it or even slow himself down. Rocks and plants flashed past him as he attempted to grab them in vain, his broken fingers refusing to bend enough to clasp anything. In the end he forced his body sideways and ended up a foot off the trail in a bunch of thorns, swearing aloud. Sick with pain he lay among them, unable to extricate himself, forced to wait till his mother reached him five minutes later, panting.

'Tony, are you okay?' she gasped, pulling the thorns from his clothes.

He gave a shaky grin, determined to prevent her getting any more upset than she was. 'Yeah.'

'You were always a bad liar,' she observed, wincing as a thorn stuck her own finger. 'Damn this place to hell! I could always tell when you weren't speaking the exact truth, sweetheart.'

Tony threw her a resigned expression. 'That's how you knew I hadn't completed all my homework all those times I swore I had nothing else left?'

She nodded, grinning at the memory. 'Yes. Lie still, sweetheart, I'm not done yet. Does this bush consist of anything beside thorns? Alright, sit up, lemme check your clothes.' Tony sat patiently while she searched through his trousers and t-shirt, pausing as she moved behind him. _Oh no, your back's bleeding again. It's bound to be, scraped over those rocks. And mom's gonna freak…_

'Tony!'

'I know, mom,' he interrupted gently. 'It hurts like hell, I mean…'

'I can see what you mean,' Rita snapped, cutting off his apology. 'Let me see.' She raised his t-shirt, wincing in sympathy. 'It's that same place.'

'I guess it could use some stitches,' he said glumly. 'We gotta keep moving, mom. You can clean me up once we reach the valley.'

'Alright. I'll go first.'

'No. _I'm_ going first,' he insisted, pushing himself up with difficulty.

'Why, Tony? So you can demonstrate how much quicker you can reach the bottom on hands and knees?'

He shook his head, rolling his eyes. 'No. Believe me; I'd rather get down on my own feet! I'm going first because you're not trained to notice mines before you'd step on them!'

'What mines?' Rita exclaimed. 'What in the world could there be to mine in this kinda place? Oh no, you don't mean….'

'Yeah, that kind. We're entering Afghanistan soon. We're gonna run into them sooner or later.'

Rita shook her head in gathering despair. 'You're telling me it's not enough that we're hiking through mountains with torn shoes, without food, that we're being hunted and you and Michelle are sick, now we gotta watch for mines as well? What's next?'

'You don't wanna know that, mom,' he assured her, noting her annoyance at his comment.

'Really? And how would you know what you're looking for, Antonio?'

_Oops. She's getting cross when she calls you by your full name! Better take it easy here._ 'Well, I ought to know, I was a lieutenant…'

'Tony, I want the truth!'

'Fine, you asked for it. I had to plot a course outa a minefield when we accidentally found ourselves in one. Took me forever!'

'You were in a minefield,' his mother whispered. 'You never told me.'

'I guess I forgot,' he said lamely, a wary eye on her. 'You don't wanna hit me, mom. The condition I'm in, I wouldn't stop till we reached the bottom of this mountain. You'd never forgive yourself!'

Rita took a step towards him, pulling him carefully into her arms. 'You could've died,' she stammered, wiping her eyes furiously. 'Did you ever stop to think what I would've done if they sent you home in a box? You're my baby…'

Tony used the back of his hand to wipe her face. 'Yeah. I was thinking about you the whole time, so I was real careful. It's okay, mom. I made it then and I'll make it now. We only gotta hang in there another coupla days.'

She shook her head, chewing her lip.

Tony lowered his eyes, examining the icy stones beneath him. 'Am I gonna feel worse tomorrow?' he questioned.

Trembling, she nodded. 'Yeah. I'm so scared…'

'Well don't be. I was trained to get my men back to base no matter what was wrong with me, and I never let them down. You can be sure I'm not gonna start now. They're coming,' he said softly, giving her a minute to pull herself together. 'Gimme a smile, mom. Like when I found your purse in the laundry behind the washing powder.'

By the time Marco and Michelle caught up to them they found them smiling at each other, Tony swaying from fever on his feet with a darkening patch at the back of his t-shirt. 'Let's go.'


	26. The Rescue

Darkness came with the Almeida family on the slope, huddled precariously on a ridge against the biting wind which had sprung up around sunset. A myriad stars illuminated the sky above them distracting Michelle from Tony's failing condition. If she stared at them long enough she might even be able to pretend they were on nothing more challenging than a camping trip. His head rested in her lap, his breathing labored. He slept fitfully under the blanket they had wrapped him in once he had passed out and was no longer able to insist they all share it. Maybe if she stared at the distant stars above her she could forget he was unlikely to last more than another couple of days. A tear slid down her cheek followed by a second and a third.

'Shh, sweetie,' Marco said softly. 'We're being hunted, remember.' He settled beside her, giving her a hug. 'I'll carry him once we get to the valley. We'll just have to take our chances down below.'

'He'd need to be carried all the way. You couldn't do that,' she protested.

'I'll do whatever it takes,' he assured her.

'He won't be able to continue tomorrow,' she said softly, heart filled with pity for the best friend she'd ever had. 'You gotta leave me here and take him. He's your son.'

Marco's eyes narrowed and he shook his head. 'Sweetie, I won't pretend I haven't considered all our alternatives, but leaving someone behind is not one of them. We're going to reach this valley tomorrow, all of us.' He turned her hand over, examining the raw skin on her palm where friction with her walking stick caused a dozen blisters to burst.

She averted her gaze. 'Our feet are worse,' she said tiredly.

Marco nodded. 'Sí. Michelle, I'm going to wrap you up beside Tony now. Get some sleep. Tomorrow will be our most difficult day yet.'

'I'm not tired,' she insisted, fingers stroking Tony's hair. 'We'll have enough rest in the grave. We won't make it out of here.'

He shook his head, unfolding a corner of the blanket and wrapping her in it. 'We will. Shut your eyes now and sleep like the others.'

'What about you?' she asked, her body right up against Tony's. 'Aren't you ever tired?'

'I'm beyond it,' he admitted. 'Close your eyes now.'

'My leg hurts a bit,' she told him. It was the first time she had admitted the horrible pain that refused to leave her a moment's peace.

He appeared to understand her without further elaboration. 'I know it's bad, sweetie. I only ever fractured a finger and it hurt worse than anything before. Right now we're in hell on earth and we're all sick and injured. We just gotta keep ourselves together till we get out of here.'

She nodded, her leg throbbing too much to allow her rest.

Seeing her sunken eyes ringed by dark shadows tore his heart. 'Close your eyes, sweetie. Try to rest.' _And the chances of that, Almeida, with her in that state, are about as great as being struck by a meteorite._ _She'll just lie there and worry in silence._ _You need to cheer her up! _'Did I ever tell you about the time I was left in charge of the house and kids?' he asked tentatively.

'What happened to Rita?' she whispered sleepily.

Marco looked awkward, rubbing his face in an identical fashion to Tony. 'She got summoned to jury duty. Can you believe it! A woman with seven children! She tried to get out of it, but she wasn't feeding Joey anymore so she had to go. As luck would have it she got selected for this long boring trial – something about company fraud an accountant might have followed with keen interest, but as for the people unfortunate enough to get selected…' He chuckled quietly and Michelle grinned, picturing the scene. 'She told me her attention kept wandering, she was forever thinking about home, stuff like did she remember to tell me how many bottles Joey had, or make certain Bobby didn't watch some of the older kids' programs, or that Janey actually done her homework. You can't blame her at all, she was a mother! As for me, I never realized what housework meant before. We had dishes all over the house, I managed to stain all the white clothes with this red sweater, I burned a shirt on the ironing board when the phone rang, the bath overflowed into the hall and soaked the carpet and I totally forgot to take the meat from the freezer. I ended up having to run out to the store with Bobby and Jo to get something for dinner and Bobby wandered off while I was getting some sausage rolls from the frozen section…And that was just the first day.'

Michelle wiped tears of mirth from her eyes. 'How did the second day go?'

'Oh, sweetie, the rest of that trial kind of just blurred. All I can say is, the second day I managed to shrink Rita's best sweater, how was I supposed to know you don't put woolens through the wash? It ended up fitting Janey, who was then eleven. Sometime that fortnight I was so busy washing dishes I forgot to collect Tony from school. It took him two hours to get home on three buses and I never missed him! He couldn't even call me as Bob had removed the phone from the hook! Jo kept crying, Bobby was a real pest, and no one wanted to eat my cooking. Wherever I turned was a new disaster waiting to be dealt with, and the kids kept repeating: "Mom doesn't do it that way." As though I didn't know that! Then Tony and Marco fought over some toy and it broke and I lost it, I spanked them both a lot harder than usual and sent them to two separate corners and the little girls began weeping that they wanted their mother, and someone said she's never coming back. That started Anna crying and she wouldn't stop, and Jo was screaming and…I just couldn't do it anymore. I promised Anna we'd go see mom and we went.'

'You took the kids to watch the trial?' Michelle cried, intrigued.

'I did. I realize now that it was the wrong thing to do, but after two weeks the stress was killing me. We found seats in the back row and the kids got real excited seeing their mother. She looked absolutely horrified to see us there. We lasted about 15 minutes before the judge ordered us out! He was sick of hearing 'there's mom!' from the younger ones. I was just about physically finished by the evening. And then when Rita got home she was finished as well. She kept telling me she was never so bored in her entire life! I had to cheer _her_ up. We ended up opening this massive bottle of tequila and finishing it between us. Things didn't seem so bleak after that.'

Michelle grinned at him. 'Wish we had a bottle ourselves.'

Marco nodded. 'Sí. We had an incredible conversation that night on the couch. I suggested she just tell the judge she's already heard enough, 'just throw away the key.' She shook her head and reminded me the accused was a Chicano, so I said something like he's obviously innocent then. 'Yeah, innocent,' she told me. 'He's guilty as hell, but I'm voting innocent! He's the most handsome guy I've ever seen!'

Michelle laughed heartily. 'And you weren't offended?'

'Me? I was ready to wring his neck if I could've gotten to him. And the trial went on and on, and the jury's deliberation took even longer and…'

'You were a lousy cook,' Tony whispered softly.

'Antonio, you should be sleeping,' Marco said, bending swiftly to feel his face. 'You're burning up again. I'll get you some snow.'

'How long were you up?' Michelle whispered, kissing his nose.

'Long enough to hear Papa whining about how hard it was to keep house. He wasn't real good at it. The house looked like a hurricane went through it.'

'There's no need to be rude, Antonio,' Marco told him cheerfully, rubbing a little snow against his hot face. 'I'm an architect – I design buildings, not clean them! Now get some sleep, the pair of you.'

* * *

Jack turned his GPS upside down and shook it in frustration, unwilling to believe what it showed. 'You sure they haven't moved yet, Gael?'

'Jack, it would be dark there. No one's moving. Are they in some inaccessible spot?'

'Right on top of some mountain,' he grumbled, straining his eyes to follow it. 'Can't even see the top of it. There's this narrow track.' He shook his head, muttering dire threats against Tony. 'Guess I'll have to climb up tomorrow.'

'Jack, get him back.'

Jack nodded, detecting a trace of anxiety in his colleague's tone. 'I'll get him down, alright. I'll get some sleep. Lemme know if anything moves.' He said goodbye and unrolled his sleeping bags, rifle beside his arms. Gazing at the stars he desperately hoped to meet up with Tony the next day, aware he was finding it increasingly hard to force himself to continue with such badly blistered feet. What Tony's condition could be he shuddered to contemplate, he just prayed the medicines he carried would prove useful.

Sometime during the night his sat. phone woke him. Instantly alert, he answered without a trace of exhaustion. 'Bauer.'

'Jack, it's Gael. The first bunch of civilians is heading straight towards you from the valley. They should be there in half an hour or so. Better take cover and make sure it really is the group of passengers, just in case we calculated wrong.'

'Thanks Gael,' he said, wrapping his sleeping bag up swiftly and gazing round for a shady spot. Concealing himself behind a rock he watched, eyes straining against the dark until the sound of shuffling feet reached his ears. Jack forced himself to remain concealed until they came in view. That the passengers would look the worse for wear had been expected. That they'd be attired in local costumes surprised him. Murmurs of conversation in Italian reached his ears as they filed past, oblivious to his presence. He stepped out wearily, aware they were armed.

'I'm Jack Bauer, U.S. Federal Agent,' he began, hands above his head as they stared at him shocked. 'Look, I could've shot you all if I planned on doing it. I'm here to find my colleague, Tony Almeida. Where is he?' _Where is he, before I start shooting you?_

A younger man left the crowd to speak to him. 'Paolo Bonillo, junior pilot,' he said, studying Jack's face intently. 'Tony was tortured and had some sickness. They're behind us somewhere.'

'You left them?' Jack hissed.

'Look, I offered to stay. His father insisted I guide these people out of here.'

Jack nodded, struggling against his rage. 'You all better hope he's still alive. Is there a Sylvia Smith here?'

A woman stepped forward, baby wrapped before her. Her robes sheltered it from the biting wind as she grinned at him through a dirt encrusted face. 'You're an American agent? Oh God.' The startled Jack found himself kissed warmly on each cheek. 'You're getting us out of here?'

Glancing at the infant his retort died in his throat and he nodded. 'Yeah. Just as soon as I find my colleague. Right now, he's up the top of that mountain. You people should keep moving a little further till you get to a stream. There's a cave, shelter there.' He opened his backpack. 'Is anyone in need of medication?' He left them ration packs and antibiotic creams and promised to meet them the following evening, his heart bitter. Pathetic and pitiful though they appeared, they had abandoned Tony; left him to die. _Hang in there, Tony. I'll get you tomorrow_.

* * *

Tony heard them moving in the morning, whispering to each other as they debated waking him. Judging by their comments he was gravely ill. Head pounding and throat so swollen he could scarcely breathe he was forced to agree, unable to stir until Michelle insisted she would remain behind and allow his father to carry him. _Get a grip, Almeida. They're all gonna die out here if you don't move. Just open your eyes, how hard can it be? _It took him a further minute till his swollen eyes obeyed his instructions.

Grey clouds floated dangerously close to them threatening a further deposit of snow, which would be certain to result in a broken neck. Tony forced himself to sit; aware he would collapse during the day. Calling on reserves of strength summoned only by their dire circumstances he rose, determined to head down the mountain unassisted. He would die in the valley during the night and they would grieve for him, but they would find it easier to press on. Too weary to conjure a smile he stared at them.

'Tony.'

'Let's go, mom.' He set off without an additional word to any one of them. His parents exchanged glances before his mother hastened to catch up with him.

'Tony, slow down, you'll break your neck.'

He slowed reluctantly for the sake of the rest of his family. _Come on mom, we both know I won't last the day. I just gotta get you guys to the rest of the group and explain a few things about this territory to you. _'When you catch up with the others, I want you in the middle of the group,' he explained an hour later as they paused for a break. 'The ones in front will trigger the mines – don't let it be you. If you hear gunshots get down and take cover. Any cover is better than being exposed on the path. Save your shots till you get a clear target, we haven't many bullets. Never drink from a pool, only from a river or better yet a clear spring.' Worn out, he leaned against his mother.

'Why are you telling us this?' Michelle inquired uneasily.

'I might be too sick to know where I am in a little while,' he lied, eyes pressed shut against the gloomy day. Someone stroked his hair as he drifted off.

They left him to rest an hour longer in the hopes he'd gain a little strength but it proved futile. When Marco decided they were forced to move should they wish to avoid a second night on the slope they failed to raise him. Rita peeled an eyelid back and shook her head. 'He's unconscious.'

'I'll stay,' Michelle began.

Marco moved away from the group, cursing in Spanish for a steady ten minutes before he felt able to return. 'Alright, this is what we'll do. I'll take Michelle for half an hour, then leave you sweetie and I'll come back for Tony. Rita, you're to stay with him. Keep him alive and keep those blasted birds away.'

Michelle gazed around, noting two large birds several yards from them. 'Oh God,' she groaned.

'They won't hurt you, sweetie, as long as you throw rocks at them,' Marco remarked, picking a large one and hauling it at the group of vultures. They scattered, flying away crying indignantly.

'What's that?' Rita asked, reaching for her rifle as she stared down the path. 'Something's moving that way.'

'Alright, into the bushes. Michelle, you're the best shot. If you miss, I'll take him out.'

They scattered, Marco dragging Tony behind a tuft of grass, the women on the opposite side of the path. Hearts pounding they awaited the arrival of the enemy who was unwilling to intercept them in the valley and had chosen to finish them off where they lay. He approached, his footsteps clearly audible to the entire little group.

'Jack, it's Jack,' Michelle yelled, pulling herself to her feet in sheer joy at the unexpected sight that met her eyes. She swung herself over to him as fast she could move, flinging her arms round him.

Jack failed to keep the smile from his own face despite his shock at her appearance. Warm tears spilt on his hand as he wiped her face, assuring her all was well. 'Michelle, look at me. Where's Tony?' he asked, sensing the presence of additional people.

'Come here,' she said, leading him off the path to a figure that lay wrapped in a filthy sheepskin. Two pairs of suspicious eyes met his as he knelt beside his friend. 'Tony's parents, Marco and Rita,' Michelle introduced and Jack nodded in their direction as he unwrapped his colleague.

'What's wrong with him?'

The women spoke at once, describing injuries and grave illness while Tony's father observed him without blinking, eyes empty.

Jack stared shocked at the sight that met his eyes, amazed Tony had survived that long without treatment. 'Alright, I got antiseptic cream and bandages. Clean him up first,' he instructed, handing a cloth to Rita while he delved further into his first aid kit. 'He can take antibiotics, right?'

'Yes,' Michelle replied, watching him fill a syringe. 'Jack he needs to be airlifted to hospital right away. What are you doing?'

Her question attracted the attention of the silent man who had not taken his eyes from him for a moment. 'No one's coming to help him, right?' the man remarked bitterly.

'We're a day's walk from Afghanistan. Our forces can pick him up from there, but he's got to last that long,' Jack explained. 'I'm sorry. There's no way our choppers can fly in here.'

'Oh. And what's so special about this place?'

'It's Pakistan, sir,' Jack replied, injecting Tony who whimpered. 'Tony, can you hear me?'

'So now you all know where we are, you've seen how he is and you still fail to get us out,' Marco continued, glaring at him.

'Sir, we cannot risk destabilizing an entire region. Any rescue would have to be undertaken by the Pakistanis from this spot and they're unwilling to risk flying in.'

Marco nodded, throwing a pebble savagely at a group of what looked suspiciously like vultures. 'I see. They can shoot us out of the sky, but they can't pick us up. Save your bullshit.' He moved closer to Tony, running his fingers through his damp hair. 'M'ijo, listen to me. You gotta be strong and last another day. This gabacho tells me you'll get picked up tomorrow.'

'I understood that,' Jack protested in gathering annoyance as he glared at Marco. 'What's your problem? I brought you food and medicine…'

'Tony needs a hospital and you know it. You could deal with these goat herders if you just wanted to…'

'So now you're blaming me, after…'

'You guys should take it easy,' Michelle interrupted, forcing herself between them. 'You should be ashamed of yourselves. Marco, you're outa line. Jack brought us food and medicine and organized a chopper to collect us tomorrow. It's the best he can do, okay? Do you notice anyone else coming to our assistance? And you, Jack. If you'd have been on that plane you'd see things differently, believe me.'

Rita opened the first aid kit without paying either man the slightest attention, examining the remaining contents. She filled the syringe again, stroking Tony's damp hair. 'Sweetheart, I'm going to give you a shot of adrenaline. It'll help keep you alive till we get you to a hospital tomorrow, okay?'

'Yeah,' he whispered, glancing away from the approaching needle. His eyes rested on the belligerent group on the path. 'Mom, tell them to come here.'

'Tony wants to tell you something if you've finished squabbling,' Rita informed them, to Michelle's amusement. Abashed at having forgotten about him they followed her back, kneeling beside him.

'Papa, you gotta relax. Michelle's right, Jack's the only one who came to help us. It's not his fault those nuts had a missile - and you know it. He's my friend, okay?' Marco met his eyes and nodded, examining the ground. 'And Jack. My father's exhausted and starving. He'll feel a lot better after a meal and some painkillers for his blisters. You guys are on the same team, right?'

'Right,' Jack agreed, glancing at the Mexican who turned crimson and held out his hand.

'Marco Almeida.'

'Jack Bauer,' he said, shaking the offered hand. 'We need to get Tony down the mountain and into a hospital.' He slipped his arm under Tony's shoulder lifting him with difficulty.

'Not meaning to be argumentative, but which hospital were you thinking of?' Rita questioned worriedly. 'One in Afghanistan?'

'No,' Jack assured her, drawn to her warmth. 'The chopper will fly him to our base in Afghanistan where they'll transfer him onto a plane to our base in Uzbekistan. They got a fantastic medical department there. Is typhus infectious?' he inquired, struggling under Tony's weight.

Rita's eyes filled with tears. 'You've been carrying him for ten minutes and you didn't know?' she asked softly.

Jack shook his head.

'It isn't. You were willing to catch it from him.'

'I gotta get him over the border by tomorrow morning,' Jack explained, glaring at the terrain. 'I can take the same medication they'll give him if necessary.'

'You just restored my faith in humanity,' Rita told him quietly. 'The others, the ones he helped, just abandoned him. You don't owe him a thing and you came.'

Jack looked away awkwardly unused to dealing with thanks.

'I'm surprised you were authorized to plan this rescue,' Michelle remarked, watching him carefully. 'It could've backfired – you could've joined Tony in the local jail.'

Jack shrugged. 'This mission was only authorized yesterday,' he admitted.

Her eyes widened. 'Jack! You mean you just came?'

Jack nodded, laying Tony on the ground. 'We need to take a break. Anyone able to cope with another ration pack?'

The Almeidas settled on the path reaching eager hands towards him, Marco forcing his a little further back until the women had one each. Silently he settled beside Tony, willing strength into him. 'Come on m'ijo. You're doing great,' he whispered, blinking rapidly at the sound of his son's labored breathing. Gentle fingers stroked Tony's damp hair as he felt the fever burning his fingers. 'He's hot again. When can he take more antibiotics?'

'In another two hours. I got something for fever,' Jack said, opening the first aid kit again. 'Come on Tony, swallow it down. You got an awful lot of people waiting for you at CTU. They're not going to last much longer with Alberta breathing down their necks.'

Tony's eyes opened slowly and he blinked, struggling to focus on his friend. 'You said Alberta?' he rasped. Jack nodded. 'Ugh. Have I still got a team left there?'

Jack grinned at him. 'You do. You wanna let them know you're okay?' He held the phone to Tony, who shook his head.

'Michelle can tell them,' he whispered. 'I can't talk.' In the end he did though, after Jack spoke to Gael who put them on speakers broadcast to every corner of CTU. Michelle explained their adventure briefly and explained he had been tortured and was sick, before handing the phone back to Jack.

'Tony's right here with me. He's pretty sick so he'd appreciate a word,' Jack said, holding the phone to his ear. The cheering brought tears to his eyes as he listened to their well wishes.

'When are you coming back, Tony?' Gael demanded, louder than the rest.

'Soon,' Tony whispered, his eyes closing. _Real soon._


	27. Gael's Warning

It appeared the rest of the group was just as happy to reunite as they were. Sylvia Smith, the American woman came to hug Michelle, and the pilot knelt beside Tony. 'I'd like nothing better than to shake your hand, Tony. It's good to see you again.'

'You too,' Tony whispered, eyeing the remainder of the group who hung back. 'This is my friend, a Federal Agent. He's gonna get us all out of here. Just follow his directions!' He shut his eyes, enjoying the luxury of Jack's sleeping bag and the shelter of a cave, conversation floating around him.

Rita settled beside him, stroking his hair. 'It's time for your next shot, sweetheart.'

'Do I have to?' he pleaded. 'I feel fine.'

She nodded firmly, well used to hearing his self diagnoses. 'I know you're a little better, Tony, but yes, you have to. Your fever's still high. It's vital to take antibiotics three times a day. It won't hurt.'

'Hah,' he muttered, turning his face away. Marco settled beside him, dark shadows under his eyes. 'Why don't you get some sleep, Papa? We're safe enough here and I'm okay now. Jack's brought enough medicine to keep me moving as far as the Atlantic if necessary!'

_He's definitely a lot better than yesterday, Almeida. You can sleep a little, he won't slip away._ Marco blinked, placing their sheepskin beside the sleeping bag. 'Don't even think of moving an inch, Antonio!'

'You got my word,' Tony muttered, half asleep. Tired out, he watched the torches flickering in the darkness lighting up the cave - his mother walking round with the American baby, Sylvia Smith fast asleep in a corner, Michelle and Jack chatting together as they ate ration packs and the passengers either asleep or talking in groups. A yawn escaped which he buried in the sleeping bag, his eyes narrowing from sheer exhaustion. Numbed by painkillers he felt himself comfortable for the first time since his torture. A shadow fell over him and he turned his head, throwing the young child he had rescued from the plane a warm smile. 'Sit down.'

The little girl settled on a corner of the sleeping bag running her fingers through her hair. 'I was scared,' she began, frowning slightly as she struggled to find the words in English. 'You look very ill in the….' She gave up with a sigh.

'In the cave,' Tony agreed. 'I'm much better now.'

The seven year old threw him a dubious look, shaking her head. 'No.'

He rolled his eyes. 'You sound like my mother,' he said with a sigh. 'How about you, Päivi? How's your arm?'

The child pointed in Jack's direction. 'He give something.'

Tony nodded. 'Yeah, he brought lots of medicines. Did you get something to eat, princess?' She shook her head, leaning against him. Tony glanced at her, worried about her lethargy. 'Michelle,' he called softly, not wishing to disturb his father. 'Take care of her, would you? She hasn't been fed.'

Michelle shook her head, taking the child by the hand. 'Come with me, sweetie. Jack, you got one more.'

Jack glanced up wearily, his expression changing at the sight of the child. 'Come here, honey. Haven't you eaten yet? Where's your mom?'

Michelle threw him a warning look, shaking her head rapidly.

'Tell you what. Why don't you look through the backpack and choose what you like?' he said gently. 'You okay with her, Michelle?'

Michelle nodded. 'Yes, we're fine. I'd appreciate it if you'd get Tony to eat something too. He won't listen to me.' They exchanged glances and Jack rose.

'Tony, you should eat something,' he said, settling beside him.

He shook his head feebly. 'I'm not hungry, Jack. Just thirsty,' he mumbled.

Jack poured him a mug of water and carried it over to him while he cast about for either his mother or Michelle, but both appeared occupied. 'Come on,' Jack encouraged, pulling him up and propping him against a rock.

'I can't use my hands, Jack. Would you call mom,' he begged, not wishing to force Michelle to use her walking stick in her raw palm a second time for such an insignificant reason.

Jack ignored him, holding the mug to his lips. 'Drink. They tell me that baby howled for the last three days. It seems happy enough with your mother. Unless you want to listen to it yelling all night I suggest you don't disturb her.'

Red faced, he nodded, swallowing the entire mug. 'Thanks.'

'Don't mention it. Now don't move, I'll get your dinner.'

'Jack, I said I'm not hungry,' Tony protested, watching his friend open a ration pack. 'It will be wasted.'

Jack took a plastic knife and fork and cut the contents into small portions, sticking the fork through the first bit. 'Open your mouth,' he instructed, handing him a piece of potato. Despite himself Tony swallowed, extreme hunger overtaking him.

'I can manage,' he muttered, embarrassed.

'Save your breath,' Jack remarked. 'You're going to have to allow strangers to take care of you in hospital tomorrow, so why not me tonight? Besides, I've been there.'

Tony ate slowly, grateful his friend occasionally held the mug to his lips to allow him to wash the food down. By the time he shook his head unable to force another bite down he had eaten three quarters of a pack. Jack grinned at him satisfied. 'Not hungry, ah, Tony,' he teased.

'They weren't exactly generous with food,' he muttered, turning red.

'Well get some sleep.'

'Good idea,' Rita agreed, joining them with the sleeping baby. 'But before you do, look at this! This baby is so cute.' She lowered the blanket slightly showing them a tiny fist curled before a button mouth. 'If I were a bit younger…'

'Mom, don't even think of it,' Tony began, alarmed.

'Relax, sweetheart. What I came to suggest was…'

'I know,' he muttered with a silent groan. _You're desperate for more grandchildren, mom. You haven't missed pointing out a single baby since I got engaged!_ He snuggled deeper into the sleeping bag, shutting his eyes, Jack's amused grin the final thing he saw.

Unperturbed, Rita walked towards Michelle, tapping her on the shoulder. 'Look at this darling, sweetheart. Look at those tiny fingers. Wouldn't you just kill for a baby like that?'

_Not really, no._ 'It's real cute,' she agreed, smiling.

Rita nodded, determined to work on them later. Tired out, she glanced at Sylvia who appeared dead to the world. Seeing that no indignant mother was about to protest she snuggled on the sheepskin beside her husband, the baby between them. It brought back several years of memories, and it felt right.

Marco stirred at dawn, rolling over to kiss Rita's face as he had done every morning since their wedding. He paused at the last moment, chiding himself for failing to notice the baby nestled between them. _You're careless, Almeida. You could've squashed that baby! Baby? _He paused, taking a better look, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. _Definitely not one of ours!_ Taking care not to disturb it he pushed himself onto his elbows, kissing Rita's nose. She slept peacefully, an arm round the baby. Marco's heart melted as he watched them together before he stirred and crawled from the rug, checking Tony.

'Hey,' Tony whispered, watching him approach. 'Did you get some sleep?'

'Sí.' Marco knelt carefully beside him, feeling his forehead. 'You still got quite a bit of fever, m'ijo.'

'Not as much as yesterday,' Tony assured him, worn out. 'What's that next to mom?'

Marco sighed and settled on the sleeping bag. 'A baby! I guess she had it the whole night.'

'Good,' Tony mumbled, a little more alert. 'Maybe she'll forget about my medicines.'

'Absolutely not,' Marco said sternly. 'I'm surprised you even considered such a thing.'

'It hurts,' Tony protested, pulling a face. 'Could you get me some water, Papa?'

Jack joined them, handing the last of the ration packs out to the waking passengers. 'We eat - then we go. We got some rough terrain to cross,' he said, sitting beside Tony. 'Have you had your antibiotics yet?'

Tony shook his head in annoyance. _Dammit. He's had to go and remind mom, when that little baby distracted her!_

Rita threw Jack a grateful look. 'I must be losing it,' she said, opening the first aid kit. 'I'll get myself checked for Alzheimer's!'

'Mom, there's not a thing wrong with you,' he assured her, wincing in advance as she pushed up his sleeve. 'Is this really necessary? Can't I just swallow it?'

'It says "to be injected"' Rita showed him.

'Yeah but, that doesn't necessarily mean it shouldn't be swallowed,' he protested, eyeing her hopefully.

'Save it, Antonio. Your mother knows what she's doing.' Marco settled beside him stroking his hair, able to sympathize with the fear of needles. 'He's sounding better, anyway, Rita, he's arguing again!'

'Hah,' Tony muttered, hissing as the needle pierced his skin. 'That hurt,' he whispered.

'Tony, I deal with sick kids everyday and virtually every one of them makes a better patient than you,' Rita informed him, withdrawing the needle. The sting of her rebuke was lessened by her hand brushing across his forehead. She kissed him before returning the needle to the kit.

Jack handed his backpack to a passenger and settled beside his colleague. 'Give me your arm, Tony.'

Tony shook his head, crawling from his sleeping bag. 'I'm fine now.' He ignored the dubious look Jack threw him as he struggled to his feet, Marco grabbing him at the final moment to prevent him sinking to the ground. Red faced, he scowled at the ground willing it to steady. 'I'll be fine.'

'After a couple of weeks in hospital, yes,' Jack agreed, watching him patiently. 'You ready to give me your arm now, Tony? We need to get moving.'

Swallowing his pride, Tony allowed Jack to take his weight. 'Thanks,' he muttered.

An icy wind howling round the mountains met them head on as they emerged from the cave. Michelle shivered, pulling her sweater tighter about her. Walking on level ground was a little more tolerable with the thick bandage Jack had placed over her blistered palm, though she felt its raw pain through them when she took her walking stick. Her silent wince was observed by Marco who moved to her side. 'Lean on me a bit, Michelle. Give that hand some rest.'

'I'll never be able to thank you for all your help,' she said quietly, her eye on Jack and Tony directly before her.

Marco shrugged. 'You know you don't need to. Come on, let's leave this dump. Let's go home!'

She nodded in complete agreement. 'You won't get any arguments there.'

The icy stream rushed past them, its roar drowning out further sound. Tony glanced at Jack questioningly. 'What's the position of the hostiles?'

'They're closing on us. Two klicks behind us now,' Jack said softly.

'We won't make it,' Tony muttered. 'If we were all healthy, maybe. Like this, we haven't a chance.'

'If they approach to one klick we'll take cover and engage them,' Jack decided. 'Thing is, we're low on ammunition and it's a large group. We'd hurt them, but we might not be able to take them out. At best we'd be holed up for days. Keep moving, Tony.'

_It won't take them long to close that gap, Almeida. Jack's already looking for a defensible position, as are you. _He forced feelings of guilt at holding up the group aside and struggled on leaning on Jack, worn out within the first hour. Gradually his footsteps faltered and he felt Jack dragging rather than merely supporting him.

'You okay?' Jack asked, feeling him shiver despite the sleeping bag wrapped round him.

Tony opened his mouth to agree, shaking his head at the final moment. 'Gimme a shot of adrenaline.'

Jack glanced at him warily. 'You realize…'

'It's the only chance I got.' Tony pushed his sleeve up with his chin. 'Give it to me, Jack, before my mother gets here.'

'She's already here,' Rita said, joining them. Her eyes took in the scene, Tony sitting at the side of the track with his arm bare and Jack hunting through the first aid kit. She knelt beside them, feeling Tony's face. 'Your fever's climbing again, sweetheart. What you need is rest. You're straining your body with that adrenaline.'

'You got any better idea, mom?' he inquired wearily, struggling to keep his eyes open.

'I sure do! Jack, there are plenty of men here. Why don't you organize them to carry him in shifts? He might even make it that way.'

Jack sighed as he filled the syringe. 'You want an honest answer? These men are all starving. Their shoes are falling apart, they're full of blisters and they're beyond caring about anyone other than their immediate family members. I could force a few of them to help Tony, but they also got guns.'

'What he's trying to say is: we don't want to fight it out among ourselves,' Tony said, translating the words into black and white. 'No one's prepared to give anyone a hand anymore. I won't be responsible for splitting the group.' A few people filed past them giving him cold looks while the rest averted their eyes. 'You saw anyone who looked like he'd wanna help?'

Rita shook her head, hugging him tighter. 'I also got a gun,' she said, helping him up. 'I already used it once.'

Tony shook his head again, wishing he could take it from her. 'Mom, I'm fine,' he said gently, searching her eyes. 'Really.'

She remained silent for a moment before she took up her new position on his left hand side. 'Michelle is also armed!'

They set off, Tony willing himself to hurry as the last of the group was considerably ahead of them. Within moments he felt the effects of the adrenaline. Straightening, he walked by unassisted taking care not to slip beside the stream. The path narrowed necessitating a single file journey. Jack walked behind him ready to grab him should he falter. Once the path widened a few passengers sank down, roused by Jack who forced them to their feet.

'We're running out of time! We got to cross into Afghanistan by tonight if we want a hope of getting out of here alive,' he snapped at a few unwilling ones. 'Move.'

Gael called them as they hastened beside the river, warning them of an ambush further along the path. Jack glared at the sat. phone as though it personally offended him. 'I got over a hundred civilians with me, Gael. Where am I supposed to take them?' he snapped.

'Follow the stream. There's no one there,' Gael instructed him. 'Jack, you're gonna have to cross it at some point.'

Jack nodded. 'I'm aware of that, but we gotta leave this valley first.'

'Put Tony on a sec, would you.'

Tony grinned at the phone held to his ear. 'Gael, I want you to know I really appreciate your sticking your neck out for us,' he said, wishing the other passengers wouldn't crowd him. 'Gracias.'

'You're welcome,' Gael told him. 'Just hang in there and we'll catch up.'

'You got it,' Tony agreed, nodding his head at Jack to indicate his conversation was over. He watched Jack frowning into the phone aware the information he was receiving was anything but good. He lacked the precise details but he had a fairly accurate idea of the terrorists' moves. _They're going to encircle you. They're not gonna let anyone out of here alive._ The thought of simply giving in to his weakness and accepting his fate crossed his mind, dismissed the moment he caught sight of Michelle talking to his mother. _No. They're getting outa here!_

'Which way?' he inquired as Jack returned the phone.

'We continue along the stream bed and shelter near the base of the cliff. It's clear. We're gonna have to cross the river a lot sooner than I planned,' he explained, shaking his head. They eyed the frothy water in silence before Tony gave a slight nod and set off.

Gael's frantic call two hours later unleashed hell. 'They're closing on you from both directions, Jack. A pincer movement. You gotta get over that river right away. I got two U.S. helicopters standing by the moment you cross the border.'

'Dammit Gael, this river is a little rough,' Jack snapped.

They stood on a ledge staring into a turbulent rapid, disheartened. Rita pulled her gun out and stared behind her while Tony moved to her side. 'We haven't a hope, mom. There are around sixty hostiles after us. We gotta cross this river.'

Jack opened his backpack withdrawing a rope while the passengers formed a ring round him aware he alone stood between them and death. He ordered them to move back in no uncertain terms and looped the rope aiming for a tree on the opposite bank. Chewing his lip and praying for success Tony watched his efforts, grinning warmly as he succeeded on the third attempt. 'Alright,' Jack announced, pulling the rope tight. 'I need a volunteer to cross this first, and then the women and children will cross.'

'I'll go,' Marco decided, setting off fearlessly, his palms rubbed raw as he pulled himself across. 'Looks like it's secure enough,' he yelled. 'Rita, you're next.'

Rita cast him an unhappy expression, her heart divided. 'What about Tony? There's no way he can climb a rope,' she pointed out.

'Tony has to go last,' Jack told her, glancing rapidly at his friend. 'We'll have to secure the rope to your waist and pull you across. You'll get a little wet…'

'Just get them across, Jack. I'll be alright,' Tony insisted, nodding his head at his mother. 'Go on, mom.'

She gave a hug unwilling to relinquish him. 'Sweetheart, are you sure you'll be okay?' she asked worriedly.

'Aha,' he encouraged her. 'You gotta go now. Michelle's right behind you.' He watched anxiously as she pulled herself over the lethal rocks, hand over hand without faltering. _Gee mom, you're great!_ Smiling proudly he turned to Michelle. 'Sweetheart, tie your stick to your skirt so you'll be able to use it once you're across. Think you can manage with that hand?' he questioned anxiously, aware of the burst blisters.

Michelle nodded, refusing to succumb to weakness. 'I'll be okay, Tony. Come here.' She slipped her arms round his neck lowering him for a kiss. 'I love you. You sure you'll be okay?' she pressed.

'Yeah. You gotta go now, honey. I'll see you on the other side,' he said, pressing his lips against hers one final time. 'Go on.' Icy sweat trickled into his burning eyes as he watched her cross, aware of the tremendous pain she felt. _Keep going, Michelle. Keep going. _Once she crossed and waved to him triumphantly he allowed out a sigh of heartfelt relief. He waved back before turning away ashen faced.

'You okay, Tony?' Jack inquired, busy organizing the remaining women and children into queues. 'The two tiny kids have got to be carried,' he snapped, grabbing two men. 'Tony, I'll be with you in a moment.'

Tony nodded and moved round the cliff to shelter from the biting wind. Yet again he had exhausted his shot of adrenaline in the previous two hours and weakness threatened to knock him off his feet. Head spinning he sank onto the path beside a young girl. He blinked, forcing his eyes open. 'Hey, you should be with the others,' he said gently, smiling at the wounded child he had saved from a summary execution the day of the plane crash.

'I can't,' she said slowly, her English labored.

Tony straightened, settling her onto his knee. 'Hey, Päivi, we're nearly safe,' he told her gently. 'You've been so tough till now. How old are you?'

'Seven,' she said slowly, obviously having given up on life. 'I can't, Tony.' She nodded her head at the river.

Tony chewed his lip wishing he was well enough to help her. 'It's okay, we got a little time,' he told her, searching for a way to pull a final burst of energy from the child. _Think, Almeida. What do you tell an injured seven year old who's seen her parents die in a plane, whose English is not real good?_ _How do you get her to struggle just a little while longer? _Wordless, he slipped his arm round her.

'That man Hassan who took you away broke your fingers,' she said, considering each word carefully.

'Yeah.'

'Why did he hurt you?' The child stared directly in front of them, uncertain whether she would receive an answer.

'At home, I am a federal agent, it's like a policeman,' Tony explained, determined to distract her. 'I go after people like him. He was angry about that. Also, he wanted to ask me some questions and I didn't tell him anything.'

The child stirred, facing him. 'Did it hurt?'

Tony nodded. 'Yeah.'

'Does it still hurt?'

He nodded again, seeing little reason in concealing the truth. 'It hurts all the time, even when I sleep. The medicine my friend brought helps a lot. Tomorrow, we will go to a hospital and the doctors will fix it for me, and then it will stop hurting. They'll fix your arm too.'

Päivi gazed at him unhappily. 'Can you keep a secret?'

'Sure,' he agreed.

'I'm scared of doctors. It will hurt…'

'No sweetheart, it won't hurt,' he promised, shaking his head. 'I'll be there with you and I'll make sure it won't hurt, okay? And I'll stay with you till your grandma arrives. Michelle will stay with stay with you too.'

The girl looked relieved. 'My grandma won't understand you,' she said, twisting a strand of the brightest golden hair he had ever seen around her fingers.

A smile tugged at the corner of his lips. 'I know how to say good morning. I had a friend who taught me a few words.' _Not that you could possibly repeat the majority of them to an elderly lady, of course, Almeida, but you do know one polite sentence as well!_

'What was your friend's name?' she pressed, interested.

Tony smiled, remembering his loyal sergeant. 'His name is Eino Koskinen. I met him when I was a soldier, he was one too, and he was real strong and real brave. That man was never scared. If he got hurt, he just poured a little vodka over the wound, drank a bit and carried on. You look a bit like him.'

His words produced a better result than he dared hope for. The child sat straighter, eyeing him. 'I am strong, too.'

'I know that, sweetheart. All you got to do now is cross that river and walk till night time, and then you'll get a ride in a helicopter. You ever been in one?'

Intrigued, she shook her head.

'I have, and it's great fun. I'll give you the window seat. Feeling better?'

She nodded, standing up. 'I'm going to the river now, Tony. You have to be last, don't you?'

'Yeah, but I'll see you on the other side. You can wait with Michelle till then,' he said, leading her back to the group. 'You got another kid here, Jack.'

Jack glanced at him, noting the bond between them. 'You want to come here, sweetheart. You're next,' he said, slipping a rope round her waist. 'Tony will stand here and watch you cross.'

Tony knelt beside her while they waited. 'You know, when I see Koskinen, I'll tell him all about you,' he promised. 'He's gonna be real proud! It's your turn now, princess.' He stood silently beside Jack while the child was pulled across, his eyes following her every movement. She waved in triumph on the opposite bank and he nodded his head at her. 'Tough kid, that one.'

'If only the adults would be like her we'd all be on the other shore,' Jack agreed. 'Now who's next? Come on, people, we're running out of time!'

Tony moved to the shelter of the cliff and sank to the ground laying his head on his knees. _You really gotta rest, Almeida._ Eyes closed, he rested, the distant voices of the passengers drowned out by the raging river and Jack's orders. Under the circumstances it was not amazing that Jack failed to hear the phone. Stirring sluggishly Tony withdrew it from the backpack, forcing his fingers to move.

'Almeida.'

'Tony, listen carefully. There's a group about a klick behind you and approaching fast. They should reach you in about twenty minutes. Tell me you'll be over the river by then.'

_Yeah right!_ 'We'll make it, Gael. What's the status on the choppers?'

'They're standing by at the border. Shouldn't be longer than a two hour hike,' Gael said, pacing restlessly. 'You gotta get across that river now, Tony.'

'They'll get across alright,' Tony promised, eyeing the path behind him. 'Gael, I wanna thank you for all your help, for taking the flak. I got a good idea of what you went through. Gracias.'

_We came this far, dammit! We're so close, just two hours from safety. They're not gonna to catch up with us, I won't let them!_ He worked his way deeper into Jack's backpack, unzipping it with his teeth until he reached the first aid kit. Slipping both palms under it he withdrew it, forced to use his fingers to open it. Tears filled his eyes as the painkillers refused to blunt the agony that sliced through them. Ignoring it, he removed the syringe, relieved his needle was attached to it. The tube of adrenaline came out easily enough, the bottle between his knees as he removed the lid with his teeth. Spitting it beside him he poured its contents into the syringe, filling it to the brim. _You'll need it all, Almeida. You can't fail now._

The remaining fifty passengers moved slowly, arguing among themselves as to their order in the line, a few blatantly refusing to consider the trip. Jack's orders were harsher as he fought to organize them. The passengers already across milled about in a restless throng. Straining his eyes he was able to make out his parents and Michelle in a small group. Rita sat on the ground leaning against Marco who was speaking to her, his lips moving inaudibly. A smile spread across her tired face. Michelle sat closer to the river, bathing her swollen hand in the water. His eyes lingered a moment, imprinting them in his memory as he turned to begin the hardest trip of his life.

_I'll see you on the other side._


	28. Hassan's Revenge

Sliding on the wet pebbles he followed the river, rounding a bend seconds into the trip. He refused to give in to the urge of turning for a final glimpse of his family, aware it would weaken his resolve. Chewing his lip he hastened onwards, focusing on the treacherous path. He misjudged the slipperiness of various rocks, landing on hands and knees twice before he reached the higher path that left the water. _Thank God. Move Almeida, or it'll be too late._

The path was mercifully free of the lightest dusting of snow, enabling him to progress rapidly. Mind blank, he moved onwards, determined to reach a point where the path diverged before Hassan and his men came into sight. Lives depended on him yet again and he refused to give in to his exhaustion or pain.

Tony reached the fork in the path before Hassan and allowed himself a two minute break aware nothing else would stop the world spinning before him. Eyes closed, he moved the moment he heard voices approaching him. _Easy, Almeida, the trick's in the timing. They gotta see you. They're not real smart – your diversion should fool them!_ He remained where he was, his heart numb till they rounded a rise and saw him. Yelling in triumph they rushed after him, Hassan in the center of the heavily armed group.

Tony pushed himself to his feet and stumbled to the fork, taking the opposite path to the passengers. It twisted as it rose and fell climbing the cliff. Their voices sounded ever closer as he pushed his weary body onwards. _It's working, Almeida. They took the bait. Now all you gotta do is keep moving and make a little noise and they'll follow you all the way up the mountain._ Realistically, he needed to buy the group twenty minutes. He would succeed as the consequences to his health no longer mattered. _You're doing great, Almeida. Every minute they follow you is one further minute for the passengers to cross that river, and don't forget these guys also got to return to the path. All you gotta do is keep moving._

The path turned downwards steeply too late for him to notice. He gave a cry of surprise as he tumbled along it, scraping the skin off his knees and the bandages off his fingers. A moment passed while he collected his shaky breath and rose to his feet, breathing through the pain in his hands. _Ignore that. Right now, it's irrelevant._

Hassan's bullet hit him fifteen minutes later on a relatively exposed stretch. Tony stumbled, crawling forward another couple of feet as he forced his body to roll off the path. The valley he found himself in was deserted of any sign of human presence. Snow lay in patches on the ground, knee high grass waved in the breeze between them and a few birds flew from him.

'Stop moving, Almeida, it's over,' Hassan yelled, raising his rifle.

For an instant their eyes met, Tony reading the blood lust plainly. Defeated, he held out his hands before he lay on the ground resting on his stomach. _Dear God give me strength. Don't let them notice how scared I am. And please protect Michelle. Find her another husband, a better one._

'Turn round, dog,' Hassan ordered as his men entered the valley. 'Where are the rest of the passengers?'

Tony sat up slowly, unable to obey the order to lie on his back. Once again their eyes met, neither side yielding.

'I asked you something,' Hassan hissed, moving to kick him in the ribs. 'Answer me, dog. Where are the passengers?'

'It's your country, Hassan. You go find 'em,' Tony muttered, shaking with the pain of the loose pebbles rubbing his raw back.

Hassan moved towards him, pulling an arm out. 'I ask you one last time, dog. Where are the others?'

Tony turned away, unable to watch the boot descending on his broken hand, crushing the fingers into the frozen soil. His shriek echoed round the peaks startling a pair of goats on a higher slope. Returning the contents of the ration packs he lay shaking, pain slicing through his hand while the blood poured from the burning hole in his thigh.

'I don't think they're here,' Hassan guessed, kneeling beside his captive. 'I think they're miles away by now and they sacrificed you to divert us. Logical choice too. You're half dead already while they believe they got a small chance.'

Tony remained silent, shadowed by the men pressed around him.

'I don't take being turned into a fool lightly, dog,' Hassan continued. 'Your sacrifice is pointless; I got two other groups across the river waiting to intercept your friends should they get that far. Nobody is leaving here alive. I wanted you to know that. Think about it as you die, dog.'

_Mom and Papa, I love you. I'm real sorry for being such a pain so many times when I was a kid. Michelle, sweetheart…_

Hassan snapped an order and the circle of men took a few steps backwards. Raising his rifle the terrorist met his eyes, firing a shot below his knee. 'Thought I was going to kill you, didn't you dog?' He croaked with laughter while Tony blinked a handful of tears away. Once again the rifle was aimed, the bullet lodging into his opposite thigh. 'Not this time, either. I got plenty of bullets left, dog. It's gonna be fun, guessing which one will blow your brains out.'

_Please… help… me…_

'And I'm out,' Hassan said four shots later, shaking his head in disappointment. 'Looks like you got lucky, dog. I'm going to leave you out here to die of exposure. Shouldn't take more than a couple of hours, the amount of blood you're losing.' He rose, leaving Tony staring at him in horrified disbelief. 'You understand now, dog. You got a few hours to make peace with your God and think about me catching up to your wife. They're gonna leave her for me.' He kicked a handful of dirt into Tony's face as he left, his men following him across the valley.

Tony gasped for breath, his body twitching. Blood trickled from the three bullets in his legs, one in his left arm, one in his shoulder and two that especially terrified him as they had been fired inside his body. Too spent to attempt to consider what organs they could have destroyed he turned his head, forcing himself to examine his external wounds. Blood gushed from his right leg soaking the ground underneath it.

_So much blood. Too much. Gotta stop that, Almeida, or you'll die._ The irony escaped him as he used hands and teeth to rip his t-shirt apart and apply a rough bandage over his thigh. _He left you alive, Almeida. He's after Michelle. You might have bought her enough time, or you might not. Go find out._ He attempted to sit up, a bullet scraping his ribs. Eyes pressed shut; he sank back into the gathering pool of blood.

* * *

Jack turned anxiously, his eyes scouring the area for the second time. The last passenger waited to cross, leaving nothing in sight beyond his backpack and unrolled sleeping bag. The sight of the abandoned sleeping bag filled him with dread as he moved towards it. 'Tony, where are you?' he called, aware his friend was not resting.

The gathering wind was his only answer. Uncertain whether to be annoyed or alarmed he retracted his steps and peered round the bend, his eyes following a choppy river. 'Tony, we gotta go now,' he yelled, hearing his words echoed back. 'Dammit, don't do this.'

The remaining passenger shook his head at his questioning. 'No, I haven't seen Tony. He probably died somewhere! Tell me you're not going to delay us all by looking for him.'

Jack glared at him in hatred. 'Yes I'm going to look for him. Wait up.' He grabbed his sat. phone and called Gael, concerned the terrorists were closing on them.

Gael stared at the phone in the greatest surprise. 'What do you mean where are they, Jack? They were right behind you. I told Tony to get you moving over half an hour ago.'

Jack's eyes narrowed as he searched the empty terrain. 'When exactly did you speak to him?' he demanded.

'46 minutes ago,' Gael said, his fingers tightening round the phone. 'Didn't he tell you?'

'I haven't seen him for an hour,' Jack admitted unhappily. 'I just now got the last of the passengers across the river and he's gone.'

'Dammit, Jack, he's gone back…' Gael cried, guessing their colleague's actions at the split second he reached an identical conclusion. 'That's why they haven't surrounded you yet. Hang a sec; I'll check where they are now.'

Jack paced restlessly, his eye on the opposite bank_. Come on Gael, make it fast. If Tony's gone back to divert that crowd they'll have caught him by now._ Time never passed as slowly as that minute before Gael answered him, passing the coordinates of the next valley.

_Dammit, Tony, your family's on the other side of that river. They're already eyeing me strangely. You think I came all this way to help some hijacked strangers!_ Shaking his head in fury he moved to the river, scrambling across the rope. Just as he expected, Marco met him.

'Where's Tony?'

Jack looked him in the eye resolved to be honest. 'We had a problem. The group following us moved too close.'

Marco watched him in silence, his eyes hard.

'Tony went back to act as a decoy. He bought us a little time and we're gonna use it. Keep moving due north, there are a coupla choppers waiting to take you to safety.'

A grip of iron seized his arm. 'Mr. Bauer, you take these people to the choppers. I am going back for my son.'

Jack shook his head, noting Michelle and Rita had joined them, hanging on their every word. 'I'm going back for him – alone. You gotta keep moving.'

'I'm not leaving Tony,' Michelle began, her eyes filled with dismay.

'He already left you,' Jack snapped. 'Go now, Michelle. Hassan won't be far behind, you can be sure of that. If he's alive, I'll find him.'

'Querida, keep moving with Michelle,' Marco ordered, pulling his wife to him for a second. 'I'm going back to get Tony. I'll get him back, Michelle,' he promised, turning away. 'You gonna shoot me?' he questioned, seeing Jack's face. 'Decide now, Mr. Bauer, because we're wasting time.'

'Sir, you were never a soldier,' Jack protested as Marco followed him back across the river. 'You're starved, your feet are raw with blisters and you're untrained to handle this terrain.'

'I'm a father,' Marco snapped, ignoring the agony each step produced. 'That qualifies me. I was there when he was born; I'm not abandoning him, now or ever! And I completed my national service! Be sure I'll keep up with you!'

Jack nodded, swayed by his argument. 'We gotta hurry.'

* * *

Gunfire erupted around them as Michelle dived into a clump of grass pulling Rita behind her. 'Stay down,' she yelled, her eyes searching the thickets on either side of the trail. Around them disorganized passengers fell to the ground shrieking, one man unwisely opting to run. 'Get down,' Michelle yelled, her words making no impact. He was mowed down before them seconds later.

Rita's stomach heaved as she watched the body jerk before them. Forcing her eyes away she glanced at her daughter-in-law who appeared oblivious to the fallen man, her eyes searching the distance.

'There are at least five guys ahead of us,' she began, turning to Rita. 'I'm going to take out the two on this side of the track. I need you to count how many are gonna fire from the other side.'

Faced with little other choice, Rita nodded, her heart hammering as Michelle rose and fired several rounds into a bush. 'How many?' she yelled.

'Six,' Rita replied, praying she was right. 'You won't be able to get them from here.'

'That's why I'm going behind that rock,' Michelle explained, nodding her head at a large boulder along the path.

Rita shook her head. 'Honey, you'd be exposed…'

'So cover me. Just fire in that direction,' Michelle ordered, passing her a rifle from a comatose passenger. 'I'll be okay!'

Mind blank, she crawled across the path to the boulder, Rita's gunfire ringing in her ears. To her relief she reached the boulder safely and took a moment to regain her breath. _On the count of three, one two three fire. _Michelle rose and emptied her rifle into the opposite bush, the stick falling from under her elbow. She slipped, landing on the broken leg, reopening the fracture. Her shriek was drowned in the gunfight; nobody missing her till the remaining terrorists lay dead. It was Rita who reached her, Rita who attached her walking stick to her leg binding it together with torn strips of clothing and Rita who let two men know that if they failed to carry her she would blow their brains away. Somewhere during that final stretch Michelle lost her battle with the relentless pain.

* * *

The sun dipped behind the westernmost peak plunging the valley into deep shadow. His failing eyes struggled to make out the pale outline of the moon, an early star beside it. _"Not a star, m'ijo. It's a planet, our closest neighbor. See, it doesn't twinkle." You'll be dead before the sunrise, Almeida, most likely long before. _He struggled to raise his head to catch a last glimpse of some rays of sunlight. It took his final hopes of seeing his parents and Michelle with it as it retreated.

"_There is a time for everything m'ijo, and it's no use fighting it," his gentle grandfather had explained. Aware what he meant he rested his head against his shoulder, prepared to argue till dawn if necessary._

"_That time's not yet, Abuelo! This is your house, you live HERE."_

_The old man squeezed his shoulders. "Don't fight it, Tony. I'm old now; I'll go rest quite soon. I'll join Abuela and my parents and even your uncle."_

_Tony stirred, his heart burning. "NO. Why do you sound as though you wanna leave, Abuelo? There's nothing wrong with you, you're not sick." Silence stretched between them broken by thousands of crickets as he stirred on the sofa swing where he had fallen asleep so often on holidays as a child snuggled into the old man's arms. "Don't you want me to come visit anymore?" He had brushed the childishness of his protest aside, glaring at his grandfather._

"_You, Antonio, are the main reason I am still here this summer," the old man admitted, slipping a thin arm around him. "I've been waiting for you."_

"_And I'm here," Tony said, returning the hug. "Look, I'll send you more money; you can hire more guys to do all the work. I'll get someone to clean out and cook and do everything, you just gotta relax and smoke your pipe."_

_The old man laughed heartily, an old sparkle returning to his eyes. "Have I taught you so little, muchacho? Now that would kill me sooner than anything! Me sitting here while strangers work my land! Hah!" He swatted Tony lightly on the shoulder, shaking his head._

_Tony shrugged. "It was just a thought." He buried his head deeper into his grandfather's shoulder racking his brains to delay the inevitable. "I got a better idea. I'll resign and move out here with you! We'll work together and I'll cook and clean out and we'll eat dinner out here every night."_

"_Now that would kill YOU, muchacho," the old man protested. "You're your father's son. He always had an urge to see the way the world worked, and you got it worse than him. Your place is out there, in the excitement." He waved a hand in a northerly direction. "Accepting who you are is the first step in life. Accepting when to go will come in time. You'll know, when it's happening. Look at me, muchacho. Don't be in a hurry to get there, but live your life so that when the time comes, and you're sure it's there, you'll leave with no regrets. I'll see you on the other side."_

Night insects chirped around him, a few ants drawn to the scent of fresh blood. Without the strength to draw his legs to his stomach he was unable to brush them off, forcing his brain to ignore them. _Abuelo, I'm coming to join you. Where are you? You promised to be there._ Silence met him as his hearing faded. _Gimme your hand. Focus, Almeida, think of him. Picture his face._ Tony squeezed his eyes shut and struggled to formulate a picture of his grandfather holding out a hand on a trip to collect firewood from the Sierra Madres. _"Give me your hand, Antonio, I'll pull you up." Wait for me, I'm coming._ A deep peace filled him as his breathing slowed and the pain departed.

Voices intruded the peace he had created, horrified cries that required his entire concentration to ignore. Hands felt his body probing the wounds and the pain returned with a vengeance. Fire throbbed though him as he struggled to focus on his grandfather. _Dammit, it's hurting again._ The face faded before him as the voices called his name, urging him to open his eyes.

_Don't go, Abuelo. Don't leave me, I don't know the way! _Concentration broken by the relentless pain, he was unable to picture his grandfather any longer. Darkness loomed before him and he struggled to breathe alone. 'Abuelo', he groaned through parched lips.

'Tony, listen to me. I need you to open your eyes. Do it for me, m'ijo.' Marco's voice shook slightly as he raised Tony's head. 'Por favor.'

Tony's eyes opened to the sight of a valley bathed in moonlight, the blurry outline of his father and Jack hovering over him.

'Give him something,' Marco begged.

Jack took his pulse and shook his head. 'He'd die if I gave him a shot. Trust me, I've seen it before. Only the pain is keeping him here. Tony, I'll get a chopper. Stay with your father.'

Tony's eyes shut involuntarily as he felt his father pull him into his arms. 'Tony, I need you to hang on for a few more minutes. Can you do that? Abuelo's not here, I am. You're NOT going to die.'

A minute passed while he lay in Marco's arms, Jack's voice fading in and out as he yelled at someone about sending a chopper. 'I'll answer for it, dammit. Well fly low and radar won't pick you up. Yes, dammit, I'm aware it's dark. Lemme give you the coordinates.'

The pain faded again and his head settled more comfortably against his father's stomach.

Marco stirred, sensing something. 'Tony! Tony.' He moved rapidly, laying his son on the ground. 'Jack, come here. He's stopped breathing.'

'That chopper better be here within ten minutes,' Jack snapped into the phone, rushing over to him. He settled beside Tony, relieved he remembered his medical training. Placing his mouth over Tony's he began CPR, counting to himself silently. 'Torch,' he muttered, glancing at the terrified Marco who moved, rummaging through the backpack to find it, his ears strained for the sounds of a chopper.

_Please God let it come soon. Don't let Tony die, he's too young. I'll go instead._

His sharp ears picked up a stifled sneeze. Glancing round uneasily he was unable to make anything out in the gloom, but his instincts assured him they were no longer alone. 'Jack,' he whispered, nodding his head in the direction of the path. 'I might be paranoid, but I'm certain we got company.'

'Take over,' Jack hissed, shoving him towards Tony. 'Keep going, whatever happens. I'll look around.'

Marco nodded, more terrified than ever before in his life as he took over from Jack. _Don't die on me, m'ijo!_ A minute later the silence of the night was broken by a shot fired dangerously close to his position. The unexpectedness caused him to jump and it took all his self-control to remain crouched over Tony.

The night erupted into gunfire. Marco kept his eyes fixed on Tony, praying Jack would succeed in eliminating their enemies before the chopper arrived. A second bullet whizzed past and he shifted position, blocking anything further from approaching his son. An eternity later the valley was reclaimed by silence. _Come on Jack, get back here. Please don't be hurt. I can't leave Tony._

He was ready to weep by the time footsteps crunched behind him. 'I'll take over.'

He slid aside in relief, glancing at Jack to make certain he was uninjured. 'Those men…'

'They're dead,' Jack muttered, waving a hand at the torch. Marco fell silent, checking Jack over for any sign of injury. 'I need you to go to those bushes and identify some bodies. It's important you do so.'

Marco hesitated a second longer. _I don't care who they are, or were! Nothing's more important than me staying with Tony._ Jack's irritated wave got him moving. He hastened over the uneven surface, climbing a few feet above the path. Ten corpses on top of each other caught his eyes. Chewing his lip he pulled them apart, focusing on Hassan. _So you're dead, you bastard! Looks like you met your match!_ He stared at the other men, recognizing a few of them and committing the rest to memory before a throbbing sound reached his ears. He hastened back to Jack, an eye on the growing light approaching their position. Without needing to be asked he took the torch, swinging it in the air.

Dust and snow whipped around them as the chopper landed, the pilot cursing them. Jack ignored him as they dragged Tony inside, ordering the pilot to move the moment they were in. Laying him on the seat he continued breathing for him, taking over pumping his heart as it gave up. Marco crouched beside him stroking Tony's arm and urging him to hang on.

The journey ended at the small U.S. base in Afghanistan, a stretcher waiting on the pad. Tony was bundled into it and raced into the surgery, Marco and Jack following at a run. A middle aged doctor with glasses awaited his arrival in surgical gown with three nurses, one of whom attached an oxygen mask to his face. A tense moment passed before the doctor rose and shook his head.

'This man's dying. There's nothing more I can do. We're not equipped to deal with this kind of trauma. I'm sorry,' he said, freezing in horror as Marco pulled a rifle on him.

'Look here. You're the only doctor in the area. That's my son there, he's hurt, he needs you. You'd better make certain you treat him, because he won't be the first to go.' His finger whitened on the trigger.

'That man's crazy,' the doctor snapped, outraged. 'Get him outa here.'

'Doctor Jones, treat the patient,' a new arrival ordered. 'He's gonna make it. Sir, if you'd give me that rifle.' Marco noticed a middle aged man had entered the room. 'Juan Ramirez,' he said, holding out a hand to take the rifle. 'I had the pleasure of serving with Lieutenant Almeida in Iraq. We're gonna do everything we can for him, trust me.'

They stared at him in silence, Marco unable to believe the situation was out of his hands. He sank onto the nearest chair, eyes pressed to the window of the theatre.

'Sir, we got another doctor and some equipment on its way from our base in Uzbekistan,' the Colonel said, sitting beside Marco. 'They should arrive in an hour or so. Why don't you come with me, I'll get a medic to check you out…'

'No,' he snapped, eyes blazing. 'I'm staying with my son.'

The Colonel nodded, moving across the room to speak to Jack while Marco rubbed his face, praying as he watched the activity round Tony. A bullet was removed from his stomach, Marco ready to vomit at the sight of fresh blood spilling from his son.

'Marco,' a familiar voice cried and he rose, drawing Rita into his arms.

'I should've gotten there sooner,' he muttered, chastising himself. 'He's not doing well, querida.'

Rita stared into the operating theatre in silence, the movements of its occupants familiar to her. 'They're working real hard to stabilize him,' she observed, blinking away her tears. 'Sweetheart, I'm going in to him. Go get changed and come back. It's okay, I won't leave him.'

He nodded reluctantly and headed for door, the Colonel grabbing him. 'Sir, I got a medic to check you out. It won't take more than a coupla minutes,' he insisted, throwing Jack a pleading look. 'You too, Mr. Bauer.'

'Sir, I haven't had a shower in weeks, or changed my clothes. They're torn and dirty, I'm in no condition to see anyone,' Marco protested, alarmed at the sight of an emerging medic.

'Relax sir, I'm trained to deal with returning soldiers,' he assured him, nodding his head at an examination room. 'This won't take long. I need to treat all injuries, check for parasites…'

Marco turned crimson, resisting the urge to scratch his head. 'Ah…'

'Everyone so far has been treated for lice,' the medic continued, pointing to a table. 'Let me see your feet.' For the first time since their escape Marco examined his raw feet noting broken blisters on top of each other. A particularly painful one oozed liquid when the medic pressed it, causing him to wince.

In the end an hour passed before his feet were treated and he was washed and deloused, dressed in an ill fitting uniform and permitted to return to the surgery. The waiting room was deserted. Rita was inside beside the operating table pressing something that resembled a bandage against Tony's thigh, to all intents and purposes unfazed by the surgery. Marco sank onto a chair and buried his head in his hands wishing for the first time that he had chosen to study medicine instead of architecture.

'He's stabilized,' Rita said, leaving the theatre a moment as their eyes met. 'They put him on life support; it got here a few minutes ago. He's gonna make it.'

Tears of relief filled his eyes. 'It looks bad from out here,' he muttered.

'He's got another two bullets inside that need to come out,' she explained. 'I gotta go, sweetheart. Tell Michelle he'll be okay.'

Marco nodded and settled back in the chair, beyond caring who saw his tears. _What's your problem, Almeida? She just said he's got a chance! He's gonna be okay and you're sitting here weeping!_

A hand touched his shoulder and he rubbed his face, glancing at a cleaned up version of Michelle in a dressing gown, a plaster cast on her leg. 'How is he?'

'He's gonna be fine,' Marco choked, squeezing her hand.

She pressed her eyes shut, taking in shaky breaths. 'Thank God. I came as soon as I could. They fixed my leg,' she said and he noted the wheelchair she had arrived in for the first time. 'They put me under the moment we arrived.'

'How do you feel?' he questioned gently.

Michelle shrugged. 'Right now, I'm trying not to fall out of this chair,' she admitted, rubbing her eyes. 'That stuff's pretty strong and they pumped me so full of painkillers I barely remember who I am.'

Marco's lips parted in a faint grin. 'They gave me a few shots too when they fixed a coupla blisters. Michelle, I owe you a huge thank-you for saving Rita. That would have been my job and I failed her.'

'You were getting Tony,' she protested. 'Even you can't be in two places at once.'

'I always managed that till now,' he muttered, his head spinning. 'Just look what I achieved. I abandoned my wife and allowed my son to get shot. Fine father, right?'

Michelle took his hand. 'Don't be so hard on yourself. You know, that's one thing I'll always envy Tony. I would've loved to have parents like you and Rita.'

Marco snorted, shaking his head. 'We done our best, sweetie, the same as every other parent.' He fell silent, alarmed by the sudden jet of blood from Tony's stomach as a second bullet was removed. Too tense to speak they watched the two doctors fighting to staunch further blood loss. 'That's gonna hurt when he wakes up,' Marco muttered, blinking fresh tears away. Michelle rubbed her own face in silence till he squeezed her hand. _How much longer can this take! Why can't they finish it?_

'I wish,' he began, falling silent. Michelle raised questioning eyes and he sighed, forced to finish his sentence. 'If I'd known what lay in store for him I would never have smacked him for not paying attention during my geography lessons. I mean, who in the world knows the location of Palau, anyway?'

'You can't think that way,' she protested. 'Everyone's got their own set of rules; you just made sure your children kept to them. They all turned out great. Tony's the nicest person I ever met.'

Marco nodded. 'Yeah.' He chewed his lip in despair, an eye on the operation.

'You know, I dragged him out shopping a while ago and he found this lost kid, and we fell to talking about how we'll have our own family one day. I said it's real hard to know how to be a good parent but he just smiled and said he's not worried; he'll do exactly as you did. He said no matter what mess he got into he always knew one thing; you'd get him out of it if he needed help.'

Marco rubbed his hand across his face in a hurry, smudging fresh tears. 'He said that?'

Michelle nodded. 'He did.'

They sat together for the remaining hour, ignoring the medics' suggestions they lie down and get some sleep. Fighting the effects of painkillers and exhaustion they kept each other awake as the doctors removed the final bullet from Tony and closed him up, wheeling him out on a stretcher. Marco helped Michelle into the wheelchair and they followed, assigned a large room with four beds.


	29. Back At Home

Michelle stirred restlessly, the dim light bothering her. Half asleep, she pressed her face deeper into her pillow and willed herself to relax, but sleep eluded her. After a further ten minutes of fruitless turning she sat up and strained her eyes peering at the bed beside the door. Its occupant was motionless; the only sound the respirator's hum. Slowly she swung her legs from the bed and groped for her crutches, standing with difficulty. _You'll sleep better once you check on him! _She hobbled past the two bedside cabinets and over to the unconscious figure, tears filling her eyes as she studied the numerous tubes hooked into him.

'I love you, sweetheart. You gotta hang in there,' she whispered, chewing her lip.

Tony's chest rose and fell as the oxygen was pumped into his lungs. She stood before him a second longer swaying from exhaustion before she moved round the bed, settling on top of the blankets. _He almost looks like he's sleeping from here. You can't even see the tubes. _Worn out, she pressed her face into the crook of his neck and shut her eyes. _I'm so tired, honey._

An outraged nurse ordered her back to her own bed an hour later. Michelle lay back in her cold sheets frustrated, her sleep disturbed for the second time that night. 'I wasn't hurting him,' she whispered, glaring at the torchlight directed into her face.

'He is an ICU patient! Only medical staff are supposed to approach him. No one would be allowed anywhere near him in a normal hospital. Now will you settle down or do you want me to call the doctor to prescribe some sleeping medication?'

'I'm fine,' Michelle muttered, her fists clenched under the blanket. _Who does that arrogant woman think she is? She doesn't even know Tony! I'm his wife…_ Not wishing to attract further attention to herself she lay down and shut her eyes, watching the nurse tiptoe across the room and pull a pale blue curtain aside. She flashed her torch onto Tony's parents ascertaining they both slept and left, shutting the door quietly.

'Michelle. Want me to move your bed over to Tony?' Marco whispered, crossing the room noiselessly.

She nodded in delight. 'Sure, but that woman won't like it!'

'Our sleeping arrangements are nothing to do with her,' Marco replied, moving the first cabinet. 'Damn it's heavy.'

'Need a hand?' she inquired softly.

He shook his head, pulling it forward. 'No, I can manage!' Ten minutes later the cabinets stood on the other side of her bed and he nodded at her. 'Hang on now.'

Michelle lay back while he wheeled her across the newly freed up space, pushing her bed against Tony's. 'Thanks,' she whispered.

'You got it. Now get some sleep. You had surgery today.'

Michelle nodded. 'Yeah. You too, Marco.'

Marco rubbed his face, the moonlight showing her his obvious restlessness. 'Yeah. Here I am giving advice I can't keep! I can't sleep. I keep expecting someone to come in and find us here. Hassan or his men, or some other nutcase! That colonel took my gun when I waved it at the doctor! I can't even defend us anymore.'

'But we're in a small military camp. We're as safe as at home,' Michelle assured him.

Marco shook his head. 'We're in a small group of Marines in the middle of millions of nuts,' he replied, his politically inaccurate description of their situation forcing her to chew her lips hard to avoid grinning. 'Yeah we got weapons, but they got the numbers and believe me, I don't like being here! Michelle, we were on a plane, flying over the mountains. It looked so solid, we had four jet engines and state of the art computer software and still we ended up falling out of the sky! You telling me we're safer down here?'

She remained silent, considering his words.

'You see. This isn't a safe part of the world. You kinda think you're invincible when you're in an airplane flying above them, that you're totally separate from them and their issues, but I learned my lesson. I just need to get outa this region!'

'You should move your own bed over to Rita,' Michelle advised. 'Trust me, it'll help!'

He nodded, a smile lighting his face as he considered her advice. 'You're right. Who am I kidding here? I only spent a handful of nights away from her since we were married and I spent that time working on my designs anyway. Didn't have a hope of sleeping alone! You just gave me an idea! Goodnight, sweetie.'

'Goodnight,' she whispered, watching him cross the ward and climb into his wife's bed. Hand pressed against her mouth to stifle her laughter she watched Rita stir, burrow her face into his neck without waking while he slipped an arm about her, kissing her forehead. _That nurse is bound to find plenty to object to once she tours the ward again! _Tentatively her hand reached out, her fingers brushing Tony's arm above the bandages. Shutting her eyes she decided to leave her hand where it was in the hope he would feel her presence and take comfort. _Please Tony, just show me you're aware I'm here._

Her sign arrived two hours later when the outraged nurse brought the doctor in to sedate her. 'I'm not hurting Tony, I just need to be near him, just in case he wakes up,' she begged, willing him to understand. 'I'm not moving!'

The doctor nodded gravely, allowing her to see his smile. 'I'm not sure I'd recommend your theories on patient recuperation, but it seems to be working in this case. Look at those readings. They're stabilized in the last two hours. I take it you've been here since then?'

She nodded, staring at a graph of meaningless data. 'He knows I'm here?' she whispered, hopefully.

'He sure does. You better stay right where you are. We don't wanna upset something that works so well for him. Goodnight!'

TWO MONTHS LATER

'Close your eyes,' Michelle ordered, a grin on her face. Tony obeyed, breathing in the scent of her slightly shorter auburn curls as she bent over him. 'You can open them now!'

'Four Weddings And A Funeral,' he read, staring at the disk in resignation. 'Haven't we watched this before, honey?'

'You watched the first twenty minutes before you fell asleep,' she replied, planting a kiss on his cheek. 'You're gonna watch it all this afternoon, Tony. You've just woken up; you're bound to be alert.'

_Would've been, without that!_ He threw her a pleading look which she ignored, sticking the disk in. 'Need a pillow?'

Tony nodded, enjoying the novelty of having their beds downstairs in the dining room where his brothers had placed them on Michelle's return from hospital to save her leg the necessity of climbing the stairs. They had pushed the table aside leaving the occupants of the bed perfect access to the wide screen TV, one of his sole forms of entertainment as his hands were bandaged after extensive reconstructive surgery. Too weak to leave his bed he was visited twice a day by a doctor who checked his vital signs and healing wounds carefully, and was reminded yet again to stay away from all food he enjoyed. Left with what to all intents amounted to blended baby food and unable to use his computer or turn the pages of a book he was ready to howl in frustration had not Michelle taken an extra two weeks from work to spend it with him.

His eyes roamed to the clock on the wall, noting a mere five minutes had elapsed since the last time he checked it. Michelle lay beside him dressed in a pale green sweater, her leg curled up to her chest. He moved his head, kissing her exposed shoulder.

She trembled at his touch, turning to face him. 'You're definitely recovering,' she said lightly, returning his kiss.

Delighted, he pushed his elbow against the bed and struggled to sit up, bending over to kiss her warmly on the lips. 'Aha.'

'And you're already disobeying the doctor. You're to lie perfectly still, remember, to allow the injuries to heal.'

'I'm fine,' he muttered, ignoring her admonitions as he placed another kiss on her warm lips. _It's kinda true, Almeida. You're a lot better and if sitting up to kiss her will kill you, you'll die happy!_

'How about we settle you down,' Michelle began, lowering him carefully, 'and I'll kiss you instead. If Dr. Anderson sees you sitting up, he'll get mad. You don't really wanna get sent back to hospital!'

Tony rolled his eyes at the thought. 'Nah. That guy's in the wrong profession, trust me, honey! He'd do better as an undertaker!'

Michelle giggled at the thought of the dedicated physician who assiduously visited Tony daily in the role he had suggested. 'Sweetheart, you're being a little unfair,' she protested. 'He's a real good doctor…'

'He's gloomy! I feel worse when I see him,' Tony grumbled. 'He got this long face,' he pulled a face to demonstrate, delighting in hearing a second giggle. _She's been through hell, Almeida, she needs to laugh._ 'And then he pulls his beard,' he pulled a bandaged hand along his chin, 'and says nothin' for a while, and just when you think he's gonna pronounce you dead he pulls out his blood pressure machine and gets a high reading, then he says "hmmm", and then…'

Michelle's shoulders shook with laughter. 'You're in the wrong profession too, Tony. You could definitely go as a comedian!'

'You've been spending too much time with my mom, sweetheart!'

Michelle's shoulders shook harder as she gave way to laughter. Her eyes rested on Tony who grinned back at her.

'I gotta admit somethin' though. I do admire his beard. What would you say if I were to grow one just like his?'

Michelle stared at him in dismay. 'No, Tony, you mustn't,' she cried. 'It looks horrible. Nobody in my family ever had a beard. It wouldn't suit you!'

'You can't know that till I grow one,' he argued, barely able to contain his mirth. 'But if I do, it's gonna be a real beard, not like Dr. Anderson's neat one. I wanna look like Ali and Hassan and all the rest of them…'

Michelle gave a gasp, reaching forward to give him a push. 'Don't you even think of it,' she cried, grabbing a cushion before she remembered his poor condition. 'Tony…'

The bell rang at that precise moment and she laid it down, shaking her head at him. 'Don't move!'

Tony lay back, his eyes sparkling with surpressed laughter, ears pricked to hear who had come to visit him. Hearing the doctor's voice killed his merriment. _It's him again._

'No doctor, I wasn't hurting Tony,' Michelle's voice protested as she led him down the hall. 'We were just talking!'

'You gotta remember his condition,' the doctor reminded her. 'Any movement could reopen some stitches and necessitate a further operation. I'm certain you wish to avoid that. He is to lie still and rest. Good afternoon, Tony.'

'Dr. Anderson,' Tony said politely.

'Let's take a look at you,' the doctor began, opening his bag. 'How have you been feeling?'

'I'm fine,' Tony replied, pulling a face at Michelle that the doctor, head buried in his bag failed to notice. She shook her head at him sternly, hand pressed over her mouth.

'We'll see. What's that?' He pointed accusingly at an empty packet of cookies and three beer bottles. 'Don't tell me you've been eating solids and drinking alcohol?'

'No sir, I wouldn't dream of it,' Tony assured him. 'I acquired a taste for mashed vegetables! My brothers are home on leave and they didn't seem too keen on blended lentils and bottled water, so Michelle found them something unhealthy from the cupboard.'

The doctor nodded, glancing at him to determine whether he spoke the truth. 'I hope so,' he said disapprovingly, tugging at his beard. Tony threw Michelle a quick look from the corner of his eyes, while she pressed her fingers tighter about her mouth. 'You remember the importance of keeping away from germs in your condition, I hope?'

Tony nodded, not trusting himself to reply.

'And yet you entertained visitors!'

'Sir, I've hardly seen anyone since I got home,' Tony protested. _It's true, Almeida. You haven't seen anyone apart from Bobby, Marco and Jo, apart of course from Anna, Rita, Maria and Jane, Cousin Juan, Papa and Mom everyday, and a few friends from CTU, like Jack and Gael every afternoon. You've been lonely!_

The doctor pursed his lips, disbelief plain on his face. 'Just remember to lie still and get plenty of rest,' he repeated, shaking his head at the reading. 'Your blood pressure's still high – you're in considerable pain.'

Tony narrowed his eyes hating his discomfort revealed to Michelle whose eyes clouded in sympathy. 'It's not too bad anymore,' he lied.

'Unfortunately I can't prescribe a higher dose of morphine,' the doctor said, his tone a little kinder. 'You're at your limit. Now let me check that stomach wound.'

Tony winced as the bandage was removed and the doctor examined his most serious shot. 'It's healing, right?'

To his relief the doctor nodded. 'It's clean. Try and get some rest and yes, I am aware it takes patience to deal with this but I can't hurry the process along. It'll take time.'

'I understand,' Tony assured him, watching a fresh bandage taped over his wound.

'And why, if I may ask such a foolish question, are you not upstairs in bed? Whose idea was it to move the bed down here and what for?'

Tony gave a sheepish smile, indicating the large screen TV. 'They thought it was easier if I just slept here,' he said, using his training to hide his lie. _There's no way you could have come downstairs, Almeida, not this badly hurt. Had they put you upstairs you couldn't have been carried out into the garden!_ The doctor left a little silence in his wake, Michelle avoiding his eyes.

Tony struggled to sit, determined to hide his discomfort. 'Sweetheart, I was right. We were having fun before he came and now we're not! I'll pretend to be out tomorrow!'

A faint smile tugged at the corner of her lips as she shook her head. 'Try that and he'll have you back in the hospital within the hour. Sweetheart, you've only been out for two days.'

'Michelle, being stuck in that place really made me feel bad,' he explained lazily. 'It's better being home, I'm not surrounded by death. And now my parents are back….'

They shared a conspiratorial grin, Michelle shaking her head. 'And your father's practically recovered from the sea voyage!'

'Well, Papa's obviously not cut out for a life at sea,' Tony agreed solemnly. 'Still, he's almost better now! And he coped fine with the train!'

'Trains,' she corrected, dissolving into fits of laughter. 'They were telling me some tales about the line from Tashkent onwards yesterday. If it wasn't them telling the tale I wouldn't have believed it. Apparently there was no need to look for the bathroom, it….'

Tony nodded hurriedly. 'I can imagine,' he said.

'And one train was two days late and they slept in a station with hundreds of other people because no one knew when the train would arrive, but they knew it wouldn't wait for long…'

'The trip of a lifetime,' Tony observed, burying his head in his pillow. 'Michelle, sweetheart, you can't blame mom. She always hated flying, and after that final landing…' He shook his head. 'In her defense, let me say she coped admirably with the crappiest train trip I ever heard of.'

'She coped fine,' Michelle agreed. 'I think she even enjoyed it! I mean, it's not everyday you get hauled off a train and ordered to shovel snow from the tracks! And while your father was digging she found someone who could speak English and she got lots of new recipes!'

'Ladies always have it easy,' Tony remarked, eyeing her warily. 'Just picture it, honey. There was poor Papa shoveling snow while mom was chatting in a warm carriage! And then the cabin with the leaking tap on the container ship! It was just Papa's luck they got into that storm, really!'

Michelle settled beside him, kissing his forehead. 'Bering Strait's always rough, Tony! It's virtually impossible to cross in the winter.'

'And it wasn't anyone's fault that that wave knocked him across the deck while he was vomiting outside.' Hearing footsteps from the garden he nodded his head at the window. 'Shh.'

Marco entered, his face a little thinner, arms full of shopping. 'Hey,' he said, narrowing his eyes at their expressions. 'You kids laughing at me again, I guess!' He eyed them in turn, noting them turn crimson. 'It's really not that amusing. What was I supposed to do, abandon your mom? I spent days persuading her to just get on the plane.' He grinned at them, thrilled to see Tony so relaxed.

Michelle nodded. 'I know, I tried too. She wouldn't go for it. But look at it on the bright side, Marco! You had a fantastic train trip!'

Marco rolled his eyes as he set down a heavy bag. 'You can say that again! I thought I'd freeze my,' he glanced hurriedly at his daughter-in-law, 'my fingers off when I was given this shovel and told the tracks needed clearing. You guys should try it once! Gives you a clear idea of just how fragile technology really is!' He settled on the bed beside Tony, laying a hand on his forehead. 'You're still a little feverish, Antonio. Has the quack been?'

'He said Tony needs to rest and keep quiet,' Michelle reported. 'He says Tony's in real pain.'

_Quack doesn't need to come tell me that, I can sense it._ 'I'll cut you some oranges, m'ijo,' Marco decided, lifting the bags into his arms. 'You need some vitamins. Has your mother returned yet?'

They shook their heads and he sighed dramatically. 'She's determined to replace her entire lost wardrobe in one day! Oh well, at least the travel insurance is paying for it!' He shook his head at Michelle who attempted to take a bag. 'No, sweetie, your leg's not well yet.' Seeing Tony's exhausted face she kissed him and tucked him up, ordering him to sleep and followed Marco to the kitchen.

He grinned at her, pulling a chair from the table. 'Sit down, sweetie. Are you hungry?'

She shook her head, elbows on the table as she watched him peel and slice a bag of vegetables. 'What are you doing?' she inquired, puzzled.

'Preparing dinner, as per Rita's orders. This was always my job,' he explained, grinning at her. 'I'm the kitchen hand and she's the cook! I gotta chop the beef up next.'

_Thank God it's not chicken._ Sipping an orange juice she remained in the kitchen not wishing to disturb the sleeping Tony. She watched while Marco sharpened a knife and cut the meat with easy strokes. 'You're good at it,' she told him and he nodded, acknowledging the praise.

'I should be, after all these years. It's not easy, raising a family when the mother has to work. You find yourself in a perpetual rush. Not the way I planned it.'

She shifted restlessly. 'You two have done a fantastic job. Did you have a plan you followed, how you dealt with all those kids?'

Marco rubbed his face and laid the knife on the counter. 'Wanna know a secret? We had no idea what we were doing half the time! We just kinda faced each day as it came. Half the time everyone else knew what mischief our kids had done except for us.'

She grinned, shaking her head at him. 'That's not true! I saw your calendars where you noted where each child was supposed to be after school…'

'That's the easy part,' Marco interrupted, eyeing her in amusement. 'Hard part was when they were old enough to attend after school activities by themselves and you expected they were there, only to discover they were on the other side of the city hanging out with kids I ordered them to stay away from! Ask Tony, for instance, where he went the night I was away in San Francisco. It's quite a tale, let me tell you!'

Michelle looked intrigued. 'Give me a clue?' she pleaded.

Chewing his lip, he shook his head. 'Actually, I'd love to hear what he's got to say about it after all these years! You ask him when he wakes up and I'll sit here and listen!'

Tony squeezed his eyes tighter. _Oh no!_ Resolved to rest rather than be subjected to either the comedy or her questioning he lay motionless, allowing their voices to float over to him. The relentless pain proved easier to bear at home than in the sterility of the hospital.

The door opened again and Tony's younger brothers entered, Bobby automatically moving to the cupboard to find a packet of cookies.

'Sounds like you've got too much time on your hands, Papa,' one of them teased, grabbing a beer. 'You know, I could maybe bend the rules a little and allow a family member to accompany me on my next trip. I am the captain, after all! Marco Almeida, lucky winner of a sea voyage…..'

His father narrowed his eyes. 'Watch it, m'ijo. You may have attained the rank of captain, but you're still my son!'

Michelle watched as the two Marcos grinned at each other, the younger rising to place his arms round his father. 'Sorry, Papa. Still, anytime you reconsider, just send me an email and I'll arrange permission for your trip! If they allow wives on, I don't see why they shouldn't let fathers. I'll even give you my bed and sleep on the floor, and we'll do our best to keep to calm waters…'

His father clucked in irritation, swatting him on the leg. 'Behave yourself, m'ijo, unless you want me to spank you in front of Michelle!'

'And that is my line to leave,' the young captain said, winking at her. 'Tony up yet?'

She shook her head, placing a finger on her lips.

'They'd have killed you, Marco,' his father said, a little quieter.

The captain shook his head. 'I'd have died by myself, so far from the sea! No wind, no waves, no salt in the air! How can you live like that? No wonder you took a sea trip, Papa, to clear your lungs…' He backed out of the kitchen, fleeing upstairs as his patient father rose.

'And you say we done a good job!' Marco sighed, returning to slicing the beef.

Michelle nodded, taking a cookie Bobby offered her. 'Yeah. I just hope I'll figure it all out one day.'

'Oh, you will,' he assured her hurriedly. 'As long as you accept each kid as an individual, you'll do okay. When we first had Tony, all we knew about babies was that they drank milk! You know that too!'

She nodded, helping herself to the final chocolate cookie from the pack.

'And the rest comes. I'll tell you a secret though. The most important thing you can teach your kids is kindness. Everything else they will learn to the best of their ability, but this has to be taught at home. A lot of people don't attach any significance to that quality, but Rita and I always considered it vital.'

'I agree,' Michelle told him, sipping more juice. She glanced towards the dining room and Marco left the counter, peering inside.

'He's still asleep. Were you watching something, sweetie?'

'Nothing important,' she admitted, finishing the juice. 'A romantic comedy that Tony doubtless hated. It's not surprising he's sleeping so soundly! I'll watch it later, it's okay!'

'Romantic comedy,' Marco repeated, a strange expression crossing his face. 'And you got a coupla hours to kill till you can watch it?' _And Tony's unlikely to wake up anytime soon with the prospect of being forced to sit through that._ 'Did I ever tell you how I met Rita?' he inquired, finishing the meat.

Michelle shook her head, having heard only bits and pieces from Tony.

'I can guarantee it's at least as romantic as anything you'd see on the TV,' he assured her. 'As for humor, well, the entire episode seemed downright grim at times, but in retrospect it's amusing enough.'

Michelle rose and peered into the dining room, planting a kiss on Tony's forehead while he struggled to lie motionless. She left the room noiselessly, settling back at the table. 'Tell me about it,' she begged, certain from their characters it would be a story worth hearing.

Tony opened his eyes a crack and strained his ears determined to catch every word, aware his father would be inclined to include juicy parts to the story they had omitted from mentioning to him. Through the half open door he watched Michelle lean her elbows on the table and turn her head towards his father, her eyes bright with anticipation. He watched Marco pull a second chair from under the table and lean back. _Come on Papa; start talking before I fall asleep! I really need to hear this!_

**The End**

_The remainder of the story discusses Marco's meeting Rita and the birth of Tony. Only for those who grew to like these characters. Thanks for all the reviews – they really made my day!_


	30. A New Beginning

An unusually chilly breeze greeted the young Mexican as he emerged from the train, worn backpack on his shoulders. Shivering slightly he followed his fellow passengers through the station, his head spinning from the myriad announcements in English, the loudspeaker's distortion enough to render the words unintelligible. Impatient people familiar with the building pushed past him as he slowed slightly to take in his surroundings. Apart from the imposing notice board informing him of the imminent departure of a train bound for New York on platform One there was a coca cola sign and several smaller notices advertising mainly food and drink. He swallowed hungrily, aware of the need to preserve his desperately short supply of cash.

_Quit daydreaming, Almeida! You need to get to the University of Illinois and find the student housing if you're to have a hope of buying food before the shops close! You definitely need a map._ As though in answer to his thoughts he passed a kiosk with dozens of magazines placed invitingly on top of each other revealing golden haired beauties in scant clothing and a great deal too much make-up. Once the irritable woman before him purchased her copy of Homemaker he found himself facing a large black man with a cheerful smile. _Time to use your English, Almeida._

Marco drew a deep breath, praying the man would understand him. 'Have you got a map of Chicago?' he stammered, a thin trickle of sweat running down his forehead. He prayed the man would nod and simply hand him one with the price located conveniently on the front to save him the need for further speech.

'I sure do,' the vendor began, obviously deciding to direct the young foreigner as he lacked other customers. 'It's two dollars. Where were you headin'?'

Marco blinked, struggling to sort through the words. The map was evidently two dollars, that much was clear. Hunting through his wallet he counted out the notes, dreading the man's obvious curiosity. He was bound to speak more; he could read it in his face.

'So where you going?' the vendor repeated. 'You just arrived from Mexico, I'll bet! You're gonna find it a little cold today, it's not been this bad a summer since I've been aroun', and I've been here a real long while! Did you come here to join your family?' This last question was addressed to him extra slowly.

Marco shook his head. 'No, I come only to study,' he replied, taking the map.

'Gee, you tellin' me you got a scholarship! Well I'll be damned. You're a real smart guy then,' the vendor exclaimed, obviously thrilled. 'Where are you studying?'

'University of Illinois,' Marco replied with a hint of pride, his eyes sparkling. Speaking English was proving less of a nightmare than he thought and the first American he had met appeared friendly enough.

'Wow. I got a cousin who went there. He was real smart, he studied medicine,' the vendor boasted, taking the map from him. 'I'll show you where it is. What are you studying?' he pressed.

'Architecture,' Marco explained, shifting his heavy backpack on his shoulders.

'Ah, you're gonna build us some more of them tall buildings,' the vendor said cheerfully, pointing his finger at an open page. 'There you are now, UIC. You got the money for a cab, or should I explain how to get there by bus?'

Marco gave an embarrassed grin. 'The bus is better,' he admitted, his cheeks scarlet.

The vendor nodded, reaching behind him for a baseball magazine. 'I better write that down for you then,' he said, scribbling something on the first page. 'It's okay, it's an old one. Good luck with that architecture now, Mexican.'

'Thank you,' Marco replied gratefully, leaving the kiosk. He emerged into a full blown drizzle, thousands of cars whizzing past him spraying the crowded sidewalk. He shivered as he hurried down the street towards the bus stop the vendor assured him was a couple of feet away, waiting impatiently in the rain until it arrived ten minutes later.

'It's always late when it's raining,' a housewife with two young children complained as he politely stood aside to allow her to enter before him.

Marco nodded, figuring it made sense; the bus would naturally need to move slower along the slippery road. Born and raised in Chihuahua he had viewed rain as an unusual event to be enjoyed while it lasted, necessitating extra care on the roads. Once the first rain hit the dusty roads they had an alarming habit of turning into ice rinks, causing him to spin his father's truck on a number of occasions. He had absolutely adored the sound of rain beating on the farmhouse roof as a child, rushing outside to dance in it with his brothers and sister. The great love of rain was only killed a year ago during his daily drenching in the mountains of southern Mexico where he was forced to stand sentry duty while he got soaked, his boots filling with water till movement required a considerable effort.

Nose pressed against the window he studied the Chicago streets they passed, amazed at the greenery. All the trees were bright with leaves, raindrops running along them. Once he reached the university he paused to examine them more closely, startled at the way they glowed in the faint beam of sunlight. The bushes he saw scattered around were lush dark green and the lawn was perfect, not a weed in place, greener than any patch of grass he had ever crossed. He drew a deep breath, the rich earthy scent calming his nerves. _Relax, Almeida! You'll do okay here. You passed their entrance exam with near perfect grades, in English! Once you find a job you'll be fine._ He paused before a notice board, following the signs over to the red brick East Campus Residence Hall where he paused before a desk and stated his name to a clerk.

'Marco Almeida,' she said, glancing at him uninterestedly. 'Third floor, room 321. Your key,' she said, and he thanked her, waiting patiently for the elevator to arrive. Filled with excitement mixed with a good measure of apprehension he stepped out at his floor and searched for his room, wondering what his roommate would be like.

Educated in boarding schools in Chihuahua due to the lack of schools in the farming community, dormitories were familiar to him. He had learned to make do with a drawer to keep his clothes in and a couple of hangers for his shirts and trousers, spending a good portion of each night whispering with his friends until a teacher would arrive and haul whichever boy he had discovered talking into the staffroom for a thrashing. Numerous pillow fights or games of hide and seek enlivened the beginning of each night, one especially wild game of murder in the dark with him as the blindfolded 'murderer' landing the entire dormitory a visit to the principal's office in their pajamas to be lined up for a sound caning. He chewed his lip, hoping his new roommate would prove as friendly as his schoolmates had.

The room he unlocked was empty, of a roommate at least. Someone's belongings lay scattered around, books overflowing from the two chairs, a typewriter on a desk and a pile of records on the bed on top of a thick quilt decorated with a lion's head. Marco carried his things over to the unclaimed bed, laying his backpack on the floor. He pulled out his clothes, laying them in neat piles, his t-shirts, his shirts, his trousers, a pair of jeans, shorts, underwear and two plain grey sweaters. Opening a drawer beside the bed he deposited everything inside as the door opened.

Belongings forgotten, he glanced at a red haired youth with non existent eyebrows wearing designer jeans and a sports team's sweatshirt. 'Marco Almeida,' he said, extending his hand to the newcomer whose colorless green eyes opened wider.

'You're a Chicano,' he said coldly.

'I'm Mexican,' he corrected, withdrawing his hand with a heavy heart.

'You don't _look_ Mexican,' the youth replied. 'Our gardener looks nothing like you.'

'My family is mainly Spanish,' he answered stiffly, returning his attention to placing his final t-shirt inside the second drawer.

Pale Eyes studied his things in silence, a disdainful look on his face. His eyes widened as Marco removed his final possessions, a toothbrush, paste, soap, two handkerchiefs, a photo and six books. Leaving them on the plain blue blanket his mother had given him he folded the backpack, depositing it at the bottom of his half of the wardrobe.

'Hey, you can't put that there, Mexican. It's for shoes,' the outraged red head protested.

'It will fit,' Marco muttered, refusing to look at him.

'No, it won't,' his roommate insisted. 'You probably haven't got any more shoes, but I do, and I need that space. Suitcases go on top of the wardrobes, see, up there. That's just gotta go someplace else.'

Marco's fists clenched as he discovered his backpack lying in the center of the room. Pale Eyes watched him carefully to judge the depth of his objection. 'That is my half of the furniture,' Marco began, forcing his voice to steady and cursing himself for his lack of ability to recall the name of the piece. 'My things can go in my half.'

'Gee, if you insist,' Pale Eyes grudgingly caved. 'There's a spot right outside the street over there where you can probably go busk,' he said rudely, turning to his radio.

Unfamiliar with the term, Marco ignored him, hanging his two shirts neatly. _What a bastard! Just because he's rolling in money doesn't give him the right to turn up his nose at you. He's a freshman here, just like you and chances are, you're a lot smarter._ He caught a sigh in time to prevent it slipping out and letting his new roommate see his hurt. He wished the friendly kiosk owner would have chosen to enroll in some subject instead; it would have been fun talking to him.

Pale Eyes answered a rap on the door, grinning at two blonde youth who entered. 'All set, Pete?' one asked.

'Yep. Let's get some fresh air,' he said, nodding his head towards Marco.

They left without acknowledging him, the silence choking him. He blinked hot tears away and hung up his trousers, leaving the room in a hurry. Unwilling to face anyone else he bolted down the stairs rather than risk a wait in the corridor, emerging into a windy twilight. Dancing wildly in the breeze the leaves deposited their remaining raindrops on him as he leaned against a tree studying his shoes. Hunger drove him to leave the shelter of the tree and seek a store, where he bought a loaf of bread and jar of honey, returning to his room to eat a simple dinner.

Thoughts of his family settling round a dinner table just outside the kitchen caused tears to well in his eyes which he allowed to moisten his cheeks. His father would hand out the food to the family and they would discuss the latest gossip in the community or the progress of their crops, or the desirability of rain. His mother would be sure to tease him gently, telling him yet again that the neighbor's daughter had spent the entire time at Mass staring at him, which would unleash a torrent of wise comments from his three brothers and older sister. After dinner his father invariably settled on a bench on the verandah smoking his favorite pipe, puffing contentedly as he gazed at his lands. Marco would join him on the weekends when he was home from school and give him a rather curtailed version of the week's events, omitting all scolding while highlighting his excellent grades. 'Sí, sí m'ijo, you are learning many things, too many things,' his father would sigh, watching him with a mixture of pride and sorrow. 'One of these days you will seek to experience them all for yourself and you'll leave us. I've seen it before.'

He had shaken his head, vowing he had no desire to leave his friends and family but his father, wise in his own ways had known better. 'You're not like the rest of your brothers, Marco,' he explained patiently. 'You got this thirst inside you and you'll need to quench that. It's not your fault. Just remember one thing – if you get lonely out there, or sad, or hurt, you got a place to come home to. You understand?'

He'd nodded, loving the peace around him. 'Of course I'll come home. Where else would I go?' he had questioned bewildered.

He cupped his hands and drank a little water from the faucet in the bathroom before he brushed his teeth, lonelier than ever before in his life. The face that stared back at him from the mirror appeared pale and drawn, the eyes dull. Toothbrush in hand he opened the door, standing aside for a freckled youth with wavy brown hair, nodding his greeting as he squeezed past.

'Tim Farrington,' the boy said, grinning at him. 'I'm next door. What are you majoring in?'

Marco stared at him in silent amazement, shocked he was addressed as a normal human being. 'Marco Almeida,' he said hurriedly, returning the smile. 'Architecture.'

'You got brains,' the boy said cheerfully, making no attempt to enter the bathroom. 'Me, I was always hopeless at math. I'm doing anthropology,' he explained. 'See you round, anyway, Marco, probably on the baseball field, I guess.'

Marco nodded, puzzled. _The baseball field? Is he here to study, or to play?_ Still, he had been friendly enough. He returned to his room, staring at his bed in grim silence, startled by a knock. Tim popped his head round the door. 'Forgot to tell you, let me know if you need anything,' he said. 'Got to run, the re-run of the game's starting!'

'On the field?' he asked, feeling the need to respond.

'On the TV,' Tim said with a laugh. 'I'm not _that_ good. It's the Cubs!'

Marco nodded desperate not to betray his ignorance about the discussion. _Cubs?_

'Say, you ever watched the Cubs?' Tim persisted, leaning on the doorknob.

Marco shook his head, deciding it would be wrong to lie, even if it meant losing the one person on campus who appeared prepared to speak to him.

'Gee, I guessed so. They're not that bad, you know. Look, why don't you come watch it with me now, so I can tell you the names of all the players.'

Marco swallowed a lump in throat, nodding wordless. Lonely as he was, an evening spent watching old ladies folding paper cranes would have been appealing, as long as he had someone to speak to. He followed Tim down the corridor and into his room which was a single, he noticed in relief. No roommate would appear and make fun of him. He leaned awkwardly against the door, uncertain where he should sit.

'Gee, I'm real bad at this whole invitation thing. Sit down anywhere, as long as you can see the TV,' Tim told him, opening a mini fridge. 'What would you like?'

Marco stared into a fridge stocked with a variety of beers and a bottle of milk. His eyes rested on a state of the art coffee maker on a corner of the table. 'Can we make a coffee? It is very cold outside,' he asked hopefully.

Tim laughed. 'If you can figure out how to work that thing. I just got it outa the box and the instructions might as well be in Hottentot for all I can get it.' Seeing his guest's blank stare he shrugged. 'Yes, if you make it.'

Marco examined it in silence for a minute before the coffee lover in him set to work assembling the various pieces. Tim watched in awe as the coffee machine bubbled, boiling the water to sterilize it. Marco tipped it out and glanced at him. 'Now we need coffee,' he explained.

'Coffee, yea. I know I got coffee somewhere.' Tim produced some Brazilian beans and Marco made them both a cup, settling in a recliner to watch his first ever game of baseball. Half an hour into it he decided it was prudent to make himself a second cup as his exhaustion was exacerbated by the slow pace of the unknown game. Covering a yawn, he sipped his drink, wishing his new friend would switch the station to find a football game instead.

It was fully midnight before Tim released him after discovering his woeful ignorance about the rules. He had settled Marco at the table, producing notepad and pens and explained the rules of baseball with the fervor of the newly converted. Marco's fears that he would grow tired of him were groundless; his new friend appeared to be enjoying the explanation more than the match. _Probably never had a chance to explain anything before, Almeida. Well, sit and listen. It appears this game is important round here._ Returning to his room he tiptoed in, not wishing to turn on the light and disturb Pale Eyes, but his roommate was out. Relieved, he searched his drawers to discover a clean change of clothes and hurried to the shower, falling asleep the moment his head hit the pillow.

Pale Eyes returned sometime before dawn, turning the lights on and taking an unnecessarily long time searching for his pajamas. Marco rolled over, burying his head in the pillow and attempted to return to sleep, longing to strangle him. His annoyance surprised him. The most easy going of his entire family, he had been thrust into the role of peacekeeper from the time he took his first hesitant steps.

Fortunately Pale Eyes slept through his hurried breakfast of another few pieces of bread spread with the same honey as the night before. He hid them once he finished and brushed his teeth, collecting a few papers. Glancing at the sign post he worked his way over the immaculate lawns to the Office of Admissions and Records, joining a short line. Presented with an armful of paperwork he returned to his room, filling in every question from the details of his scholarship to his birth date and residence status. The last form took the longest to complete. Being a freshman he discovered he was forced to take a few units outside his field of study. Frowning in concentration he read through the list of subjects to make certain nothing he chose would interfere with an architecture class. Sharing his love of buildings only with his passion for history he picked American History 101 hoping to learn more about the place.

Once he returned he joined a longer line snaking round the building. To his relief it appeared he had filled in his forms accurately. He was handed a student number and reminded the classes commenced the following day. Not wishing to return to his room and take more insults from Pale Eyes he resolved to hunt for a job to restore his badly depleted wallet.

The afternoon passed in a whirl of noise as he explored the city of Chicago. He was fortunate enough to appear at the Acapulco Bar Mexican restaurant at the right moment as one employee quitted. The owner grudgingly allowed him to try his hand washing dishes, watching while he worked harder than ever before.

'Alright, Marco, that's not too bad,' he sighed. 'I guess you'll get faster. Now I need you every night from Wednesday to Sunday. Don't bother showing on Monday or Tuesday, it's so slow I don't even open on Mondays. That good for you?'

'Sí Señor, I'll be here,' Marco promised in great relief, eyeing the burritos warming in the oven. Stomach rumbling, he showed Senor Perez his student visa.

'Don't forget to get yourself a tax file number,' his new boss reminded him. 'And quit staring at the food. Are you hungry?'

Marco blushed, unsure what to answer. He was starving, but he had little money, certainly not enough to eat dinner in a restaurant.

Perez sighed aloud, fetching a plate which he set before his newest employee. 'Help yourself. It comes with the job,' he explained kindly. Seeing the young man's astonished expression he laughed, nodding. 'Every night, sí. Just wash those dishes quickly, we get pretty busy.'

'I will senor,' he promised, devouring his first hot meal in three days by the time Perez returned with a glass of water. The man shook his head, removing his plate and refilling it. 'They don't give you much spending money, I take it?'

'No señor, only the college and part of the room is paid for,' Marco explained, deeply ashamed.

Feeling a lot better about his improved situation he explored a few more streets before heading back to the university. Pale Eyes was unfortunately in, listening to the radio. He ignored Marco's arrival, refusing to acknowledge his greeting. _Fine, I won't say hi again._ He pulled his pajamas from the bed, standing under the scalding shower until the hot water ran out in a vain attempt to feel warm again. Stomach filled, he slept soundly.


	31. Rita

American history 101 started at 9:00 in the morning, necessitating a quick breakfast of his now familiar bread and honey and a rapid shower and shave. Marco slipped into his jeans, blue t-shirt and warm grey sweater and left the building, pausing before the signpost to search for the Art Building, which was supposedly directly on the way to the group of lecture theatres. He found the Art Building easily enough but spent a few minutes wandering the various lecture theatres admiring their floor to ceiling glass windows before discovering his own.

A crowd of students stood outside, shivering in the breeze, a few of them rubbing their eyes. Several of them appeared well acquainted, chatting about mutual friends. Groups of young men stood around, most of them discussing the previous afternoon's game. Marco stood a little way from them, overcome by shyness. It appeared they all had far better clothes than he wore and exuded a confidence he was unable to share. They were at home despite it being their first day, secure in their groups. He stood alone, the only foreigner in the crowd.

Five minutes after the lecture was scheduled to begin a professor appeared in a great hurry, unlocking the door and motioning them in. The cheerful students hastened to the front, opening notepads and pencil cases while he grabbed a seat in the back row praying no one would notice him. His heart thumped wildly in his ribcage, not helped by the professor's delivery of his first ever lecture in English. Whilst the quality of what he could hear was outstanding, the professor's delivery of it was dismal. He mumbled, turning his back unexpectedly to write something on the board in the middle of a sentence, rubbing it off before the end, whilst interrupting himself with another rambling thought. Marco's brain span, his high school English pushed to its limit. _This is not working at all, Almeida. It's your fault too, they all warned you. They told you it would be a real nightmare trying to study in English and you ignored all of them! Serves you right!_ The lecture continued, Marco taking frantic notes from the points he understood, stressed to the point of considering purchasing a ticket home that evening when the door opened silently and a latecomer slid inside. His mouth fell open as he stared at her before he recalled his manners and shut it in a hurry.

Never, anywhere in his life had he seen a more gorgeous girl, he was certain of it. Long dark hair hung down to her waist, slightly wavy at the tip, accentuating her pale pink dress with its mini skirt. A black necklace brought out the almond shaped eyes, glittering dark brown as she glanced around guiltily. Frozen to his seat he gaped at her, cursing himself for his inability to smile and pat the seat beside him as any of his brothers would have done. 'Oh God, please,' he prayed silently, unable to complete his dearest wish. _Get a grip, Almeida. Why in the world would anyone that beautiful want to sit anywhere near you? Stop dreaming!_ 'I'm sorry,' he finished his incomplete prayer regretfully. 'I had no right to beg. The days of miracles are long over.'

It appeared they were not. The girl looked towards the front and decided against attracting attention to her late arrival, electing to slide unnoticed into the back row instead. 'Is anyone sitting here?' she asked, her whisper rich and husky. It took him a few moments to emerge from his trance enough to shake his head.

She settled, laying her books on the table. 'Rita Torres,' she said, throwing him a warm smile. 'Am I late?'

Marco wasn't sure what he answered though he spent the rest of his life attempting to recall it, but it satisfied her. Smiling warmly she bent her head closer to his, the scent of her perfume drifting over to him. 'I'm always a little late,' she confessed merrily. 'Always have been. I get that from my father, I expect.' He watched her enchanted, a smile creeping over his own face while he offered up a rapid prayer of thanks. _Say something to her, Almeida! She's talking to you. She'll leave if you sit there like a donkey._ Try as he might he was unable to formulate the simplest sentence.

It appeared Rita accepted his silence as normal. 'You're the sort who gets to an appointment ten minutes early, I expect,' she continued cheerfully. 'I can tell just by looking at you. You remind me of my cousin, he's always on time for everything. Not that he was that way when he was little, of course, but they taught him punctuality in the army. My brother usually gets to places on time too; it's only me who just can't get her act together. Why are you smiling like that?' she asked, stopping her chatter to fix him with a curious gaze.

'You're very beautiful,' he whispered, blushing furiously the moment the words left his mouth. _You're a fool, Almeida. They've been telling you so for years, and they were right._ He cursed himself, wishing he were more like his brothers.

'Did you just say I was beautiful?' the girl questioned, blushing a rosier shade than her dress.

He nodded. 'Sí, I did. I'm sorry; I didn't mean to offend you.'

'You didn't offend me,' Rita assured him, her cheeks turning darker. 'Do you say that to every girl?'

Horrified, he shook his head. 'No. I don't usually speak much to girls, apart from my cousins, of course.' He chewed his lower lip, expecting a scornful laugh. Once a full minute had passed without it he raised his eyes, noting her examining him.

'You know, it sounds crazy but I believe it,' she said, surprised herself at the startling way her throat constricted when he threw her that hopeful look. For the briefest moment she imagined slipping an arm around him before she told herself off sternly. _Get a grip, Rita! What kinda person are you anyway? You just met the guy and you're already imagining what his kiss would be like._ She chewed her own lip, examining the table in her turn. The silence stretched while Marco frantically cast his mind around a suitable reply. Realizing that he would fail to speak, she threw him an inquisitive look. 'So why didn't you speak to girls? Where were you hiding?'

'I wasn't hiding,' he replied, stealing a glance at her from the corner of his eyes to make certain she was not mocking him. 'I went to a boys' boarding school and then the army. We were along the border in southern Mexico.' He fell silent, wishing he could sound more entertaining.

'A boarding school,' she echoed, surprised. 'Is your family very rich?'

He shook his head in a hurry. 'Not really. They have a farm in a very small village and there was no school beyond the seventh grade. My brother and I went to a school in Chihuahua during the week and we went home on the weekends. My father came to collect us.' He swallowed hurriedly as the memory of his father's arrival twisted his heart. _You're a long way from home, Almeida._

Rita appeared to sense his distress for she asked him how many people he knew in Chicago, startled to hear he was alone. Kind hearted by nature she pitied the young man who struggled so obviously against loneliness. She stole another quick look at his face, seizing up his wavy dark hair, his suntanned face and intelligent dark eyes, reading a deep calmness within them. He was a steady young man, obviously used to helping his family at home. She was in luck, with the struggle he exhibited putting two words together while staring at her openly, she could be certain he had no previous girlfriends. Somehow that last observation reassured her – the thought of anther girl claiming her new friend enough to tighten her hands into fists. 'So why did you pick Chicago?' she asked.

'I always wanted to come here. It's the first city to build high rises,' he explained, warming to his topic. 'I applied and got a scholarship, so I came after I completed my national service.'

'You like high rises?' she asked amazed. 'What are you studying, anyway?'

'Architecture,' he replied, and she nodded. She had judged him correctly, he was indeed intelligent. Very intelligent too, if he had won a scholarship – a world away from her own poor grades which barely got a her place at all.

The professor's annoyed glance cut their conversation off as they bent guiltily over their notes. With a pang of dismay he realized the lecture was now half over and he had little idea of its contents. Listening closely he struggled to comprehend the remainder of it, giving up in despair. 'I don't understand that man at all,' he admitted, shaking his head. 'I should go home; it's too hard to think in English.'

An alarmed look crossed Rita's face as she collected her notebook. 'You gotta be kidding!' she cried. 'You can't just run out on a scholarship.'

Marco blushed, collecting his own things. 'I know. It would be a terrible thing to do. Someone else could have taken my place, but maybe if I quit now they can still start.'

Rita gazed at him in gathering dismay. The most handsome man she had ever spoken to in her entire life was about to pack his bags and flee back over the border before she could get to know him, all because of that dismal lecture by that incompetent professor. Longing to wring his neck as he left the auditorium, she turned to the Mexican instead, taking his hand. 'You can't quit just like that. That guy was pathetic, nobody understood him. I'll listen real hard next week and take notes and share them with you. It'll get easier, you know, as you practice,' she said in a rush, her cheeks turning scarlet again.

Marco squeezed her hand gently, his heart warmed by her words. 'You really think so?' he asked, longing to hear her speak a few more sentences to him before she joined the group so clearly waiting for her and left him alone.

'I know it,' she insisted. 'Hey, what are you doing now?'

He shrugged. 'I'll read through the course book and take my own notes,' he said quietly. 'And I must go to the tax department and get a number after lunch.'

'I'll take you,' she decided, equally reluctant to part company and hunt the campus hoping to run into him by chance for an entire week.

'Are you sure?' he asked eagerly, delighted at the chance to spend a little more time with her. 'It's not a very exciting place.'

'I'll take you to see my favorite spot right afterwards,' she decided. 'You haven't got anything else on today, have you?'

'Not until 7:30,' he told her.

'Great. I'll pick you up around one, then,' she said, waving to him as she joined her friends, her curiosity peaked. She longed to hear where a stranger who had been in her city only two days had to be at 7:30 on a Wednesday after he had just finished telling her he knew no one.

* * *

The question bothered her during lunch as she picked through her food struggling to concentrate on her mother's conversation.

Catalina Torres studied her only daughter in blatant disapproval, a familiar frown on her face. It was obvious that the girl had met someone, the way her face flushed unexpectedly at the strangest places in the conversation, the dreamy expression on her face telling her she was right. She determined to discover his identity by whatever means it took, determined her daughter would marry Javier Palma, son of her dearest and much envied friend, each of whose properties was worth more than her own expensive house. Rita would marry Javier in a year or so, she would see to it. She had, after all, decided on the union several years ago, and nothing would thwart her plans!

'Did you have a nice day, sweetheart?' she questioned.

Rita nodded, explaining her history lecture to her parents. The subject was harder than she had thought; she would need to spend the afternoon back in the library if she had a hope of passing the course. Her father nodded, his mind on his coin collection. Antenna tuned to the lie her mother watched her, determined to call a few of her friends whose daughters had just started at UIC to see what they could discover.

* * *

Marco returned to his room, relieved to discover it free of Pale Eyes and settled down on his bed, pillow behind his back. Idly he flipped his history reader open, his mind lodged firmly in the present – the future too, if he was absolutely honest. Rita Torres was going to accompany him to the taxation department! _Rita Torres._ He ran the name over his tongue slowly, loving each individual syllable.

Swallowing, his eyes skimmed the first page and the second, his mind far removed from the Declaration of Independence. He struggled to picture her in his mind – five foot three, slightly short but with a personality that would help her stand out in any gathering. Cheerful, talkative, and with a flash of temper, she would make his life in Chicago interesting. _Let's face it, Almeida. You're an awfully boring kind of guy. Your idea of fun is to wander the streets alone searching for unusual buildings that capture your imagination and design them at home. It's time you met a girl…_He wondered briefly what his parents would think of her dress before he shrugged the thought aside. She was young and this was Chicago, and it suited her to perfection. Without remembering a single point he turned the third page, instinctively numbering the main points. Shocked, he stared at his little finger held before his face, unable to recall a single thing. _Get a grip, Almeida_, he ordered himself sternly. _This really won't do. So you met a gorgeous girl. So she likes you. You've still gotta concentrate and pass your subjects, and you're going to have a battle on your hands if all lecturers speak like that one did. Concentrate on your studies; it'll hurt less when she'll leave you. She WILL leave you, you should know that. She's real beautiful and she's pretty wealthy. Enjoy the friendship while it lasts._

By 11:00 he gave up the futile attempt at concentration, eating some more pieces of bread with honey. Unable to settle, he went for a walk around the university, relieved to feel a warm sunshine. The previous days' icy wind had disappeared and he removed his sweater for the first time since he entered the States, welcoming the sun on his skin. It appeared the birds sang louder and the leaves turned brighter as he strolled the grounds dreaming about her.

'Ready?' she questioned as he reached the deserted lecture theatre at the appointed time.

He nodded, smiling at her. 'You got here early!'

She blushed, turning away to stare at the buildings behind her. 'Traffic was pretty good. You got your passport with your visa?'

Marco nodded, withdrawing it from his pocket. Eager fingers took it from him, examining his details with interest. 'Marco Tomas Antonio Almeida,' she read, impressed. 'That goes well together. Are you named after anyone in particular?'

'Sí. My father is Tomas, and my eldest brother was Antonio. He got a fever when he was a baby and died…My parents say I look exactly like him. Mama wanted to name me Antonio, but Papa said it was bad luck.' He studied her from the corner of his eyes, pleased to see her nod.

'Very bad luck,' she agreed. 'One sibling should never be named after another.' She kept up with him as he moved through the grounds at the pace of a forced march, slowing once he realized she was panting. 'Isn't your mother worried about bad luck?' she questioned, determined to discover everything about him.

'My mother is Spanish,' Marco explained, pausing to pretend to examine a building, waiting for her to catch her breath. _She walks real fast, for a woman. She'd walk lot faster too, were she to stop talking. _Watching her take a few deep breaths he hoped she would talk all afternoon.

'My family's all Spanish too, but we do believe in bad luck,' Rita told him.

'Mama doesn't,' Marco told her, amused. 'My father is real traditional though. He looks at the sky and can tell you exactly what the weather will be, and he offends no one. They're complete opposites.'

'Usually works well that way,' Rita said, considering how different he was from her, good at all subjects she barely passed. 'That's my car.' She unlocked her door and he climbed into an Impala, narrowing his eyes. 'It was a present from my father for getting into UIC by one point,' she explained, seeing his expression.

Marco nodded as though it were the most natural thing in the world to present a child with an expensive vehicle as a gift. _These people are loaded, Almeida! She certainly won't want to spend time with you for long. You shouldn't allow yourself to love her, it's wrong. _He averted his eyes, watching the traffic.

Rita cast him a few questioning glances, wishing she knew what he was thinking about. He had fallen silent as the car started up, barely looking her way. 'Did I say anything?' she asked worriedly.

Marco stared at her, shaking his head. 'No. Do we have to go far?' he asked, scolding himself for his poor manners.

'Not too far,' she replied, grinning at him in relief. 'I thought for a moment you hated my car,' she said in a rush. 'Dammit!' She pressed the horn, glaring at a driver that had attempted to cut in the lane ahead of her. 'Just watch it, mister. I'll ram you!'

Marco's eyes widened as she inched forward deftly, cutting the other driver off. _She's certainly got spirit, this one!_ He grinned at her outraged face in amusement. 'Isn't it us men who are supposed to be aggressive drivers?' he inquired, noting her eyes flash in his direction.

'You haven't seen aggressive yet,' she assured him, eyeing the other driver with satisfaction. 'Just stay in your lane!'

He followed her into the tax department slightly awed by its size, noting the crowd of people sitting on sofas, the handful of whining children and a few frustrated women pacing the floor. _Looks like they've been here quite a while, Almeida._ He turned to his friend to tell her she had better leave, only to discover she had moved over to a counter, pulling a number.

'You're I 407,' she explained, handing it to him. 'It will flash up on that screen.'

He nodded gratefully. 'Thanks. Listen, Rita, this place is real busy right now. I'll be okay by myself.'

The number on the screen changed, I 198. Marco groaned faintly, foreseeing an afternoon of pacing. 'Gee, they're busy today,' Rita commented. 'Well, we're not waiting around for that! I'll take you to my favorite spot and we'll have some lunch, or the sandwiches will cook, and we'll get back!'

Marco stared at her in amazement. 'I really need this number today,' he said hesitantly. 'I can't afford to miss my place in the line.'

'You won't,' she assured him, marching boldly up to the counter labeled 'Inquiries'. 'How long is the wait today?' she asked, smiling sweetly at a middle aged man. 'Honest truth, now!'

'Around two and a half hours, miss. It's tax return time, half the city wants to ask something…'

'Thanks, we'll come back later,' she said, grabbing Marco by the arm. 'Let's go, we got plenty of time.'

'But…'

'Look, I'll get you that number if we do miss it, don't you worry,' she assured him confidently. Without waiting for further protests she tightened her grip, dragging him back through the door. 'Don't worry. We're going on a picnic!'

Marco nodded, aware protest would be futile. 'Sí. Why not?'


	32. The Picnic

Marco slid from the car eagerly, his eyes fixed on the dark blue lake between the trees. Warm sunshine illuminated the park, bathing the entire area in light. He caught his breath at the fluorescence of the myriad leaves never having seen such pure green before. It appeared the entire world celebrated the warmth. Insects chirped around him, birds sang and children raced around playing ball or chasing each other. A young woman frolicked with a puppy and a group of senior citizens gossiped on fold-up chairs in the shade. He noticed her watching him from the corner of his eye and he grinned at her. 'It's very beautiful,' he told her honestly. 'Are the trees always this green?'

Rita laughed at him, unlocking the trunk. 'Only in the spring and summer, silly,' she said, handing him a plastic box. 'Take that. I'll get the rug.'

Marco followed her through the park and over to the edge of the water where she deposited the rug beneath a tree. 'Hope you don't mind sitting a little way from the crowd,' she said, tidying the edges.

'Not at all,' he assured her, laying the box down on the grass. The lake stretched before him as far as the horizon, the darkest blue he had ever seen, the surface waves shimmering in the sunshine.

'Lake Michigan,' she said, nodding her head at the water. 'My father brought us to play in this park real often. Once we came here after a wedding for some photos - I was a bridesmaid, and I managed to fall into the water and get soaked!' She smiled at the memory, pointing a little way back towards the crowd. 'Right over there,' she said.

He grinned at her in amusement, picturing her as a child. Judging by the way she had driven to the lake he could only assume she must have been a handful. The breath caught in his throat as she moved into the sunlight, bending down to open the lid of the cool box. Rich brown hair shone down her back as she shrugged it off her shoulders impatiently, withdrawing a few sandwiches. 'I bought these on the way,' she explained. 'I can make them myself too, of course, but mom was home…' A shadow spread across her face, quickly dispelled as she unwrapped them. 'You got a choice, ham and lettuce, cheese and tomato with pickles; chicken and salad…Take one.'

'You choose first,' he insisted, sitting in a patch of sunshine. 'Ladies first.'

Rita laughed, nodding her head. 'You remind me of my father,' she said, helping herself to the chicken salad. 'He believes women are fragile.'

'He's right,' Marco told her, taking the ham sandwich, telling himself to chew it slowly as though he had already eaten lunch.

Her eyes flashed as she swatted him on the arm. 'I'm NOT fragile. I could beat you easily,' she decided, looking him over. 'You wouldn't even fight back!'

He smiled gently, his heart warm. _Fight back! God no. No, you'd defend her instead, Almeida, should anyone even attempt to lay a finger on her. _'I don't fight with girls,' he remarked, finishing the sandwich regretfully. 'Papa would've killed me if I tried laying a hand on one.'

Rita tossed him a second sandwich and handed him a can of coke. 'Was he strict?'

'A little,' he replied, sipping the drink. 'He tolerated pretty much anything from my sister, though.'

'Older or younger?' she asked, determined to discover everything about him.

'Two years older. I got three brothers as well, they're all older too.'

'So you're the youngest,' she said slowly. 'The spoilt one.'

Marco frowned, peeling a stalk of grass into two halves. 'Spoilt? No. It wasn't much fun being assigned the worst possible roles when we played. How about you?' He longed to hear all about her, wishing he had her confidence in asking questions.

'I got an older brother,' she told him, leaning comfortably against the tree. 'He's five years older and he works for the INS. He's got his own apartment, so it's just me at home.' She sighed heavily, reluctant to elaborate. He lacked the courage to question her further.

'It's quite warm today,' he said leaning comfortably against the cool box and feasting his eyes on the lake. 'I was getting worried…'

She laughed at him, happy again. 'It'll stay like this for a while, I promise. Winter won't start for another two months. You know, this place looks lovely covered in snow. There's a spot right there where I used to skate.'

He shivered, picturing the green lawn buried beneath a foot of snow, the icy wind from the lake scattering it in piles along the tree trunks. Noticing his inadvertent betrayal of his feelings she stared intently at him, a sudden intuition causing a giggle. 'You never saw snow, did you?'

Ashamed, he shook his head. 'No. Didn't miss it, either.' He stared at her defiantly, willing her to believe him.

'You don't know what you missed, Marco Almeida!' she cried in horror. 'You telling me you NEVER built a snowman? Never skated on a frozen pond? Never took a toboggan and rode it down a hill? Never had a snowball fight?'

'Never,' he agreed. 'What's the big deal, anyway? I rode my bike down some hills and I had a cart we made with a few wheels! And I had plenty of fights with mud balls by our very own dried out creek! At least it wasn't cold,' he concluded, an eye on her shaking shoulders.

'You're going to love it,' she assured him, shocked by her desire to hug him. _Dammit. Why is he so extremely hot? _she wondered again._ You're going to have to exercise real self control to avoid grabbing him for a kiss!_

Marco shook his head. 'I won't,' he replied firmly.

'You will,' she contradicted, throwing an uneaten crust at him. Lazily he flicked it back, his aim perfect. She stared at it startled, noticing it landed precisely in the spot she had tossed it from. 'Want to go for a walk?' she begged, grabbing his arm.

'At siesta time?' he grumbled, allowing her to pull him to his feet.

'Siesta time is over!' she said firmly, handing him the box. 'We'll put these things in the car and then I'll show you some paths.'

'I got to get back…' Marco began, his words lost in the breeze as she hastened across the lawn ahead of him. _What the hell, Almeida. You're probably not going to get a tax file number today!_ Hurrying after her he deposited the box in the trunk. 'Which way shall we walk?'

'I always go that way,' she explained, nodding her head to the right. 'There's a lookout. Where's the rest of the bread?'

He opened the box, removing a few uneaten crusts. 'Are you hungry?'

'It's for the ducks of course,' she exclaimed, swatting his arm. 'Come on!'

'Yes ma'am,' he muttered in English, comparing her to his equally authoritative sergeant who also insisted on his own way. _They'd do well together. Forget it Almeida, they'd probably kill each other! Rita needs a man like you, a follower who's good at taking orders!_ Amused, he trudged after her, moving off the path to allow a bicycle past. 'Is it far?'

'Not really,' she said, stopping to allow him to catch up. 'Just round that corner.' The sun shone on the water turning it silver at the shore. 'Are you coming?'

'Sí,' Marco agreed, in awe. 'There isn't much water at home,' he explained rejoining her. 'This is very beautiful. Kind of ironic, isn't it? We got the weather, you got the water!'

'What's that supposed to mean?' she asked, darting a glance at the sparkling dark eyes.

'It means the weather here is real bad, but you got plenty of water,' he explained, grabbing her arm suddenly to drag her from the path of a speeding cyclist. 'You okay?'

Rita's heart skipped a beat and a strange tingling sensation spread through her body. She was fine, better than okay, better than at any time in her entire life! Throwing caution to the wind she allowed herself to inch closer to him, resting her head against his side. 'Aha.'

Marco's stomach fluttered as she remained where she was, her body warm against his. Plagued by shyness his entire life he had failed to exchange more than a handful of words with any girls since early childhood, and now there he stood beside a lake from a story book with the world's loveliest girl in his arms. He blinked to check whether he was awake, amazed to discover he was. Rita Torres really was in his arms! For the first time he felt grateful for the previous year of national service. Wasted time it had been, that was unarguable, but without it he would never have met his new friend. Without conscious thought his arm slipped round her drawing her to his side in the manner of courting couples the world over.

Her heart skipped another beat as she felt herself drawn closer to Marco, able to feel the wiry strength of his muscles. Quiet and shy as he was, he was no weakling, she noted relieved. She swallowed, her legs turning to jelly.

'We should go, if you're going to show me the lookout,' he said softly, making no attempt to remove his arm from her waist.

Joyously she nodded, her arm tight about his waist, her pace slow. _He likes you too, Rita, it's obvious! His eyes are sparkling, and those lips…_She turned her head away in a hurry, walking beside him in silence. Time seemed to slow as they walked wrapped in each others' arms beside the shore, treasuring each second. Shutting her eyes briefly she imagined herself decked in a wedding gown beside him, his 'I do' clear for all to hear. All too soon they reached the jetty and she paused, tossing the bread to the group of ducks that surrounded them.

For the first time in his life he calculated his future income as an architect, wondering whether he would be able to support her in anything like the style she was accustomed to. He doubted it, aware he would be starting from zero, and that the chances of her waiting around for him to even find such a position were slim. _Real shame her family is so rich, Almeida. You're never going to love anyone this much again…_

They remained together, neither willing to take the first step away, breathing in each other's scent. Marco noted how perfectly she fit into his arms remembering his parents walking together in their few uninterrupted moments and he felt a pang of regret that the girl of his dreams would surely find another. Forcing his emotions aside he gazed at the water. 'I need to get back for my number,' he reminded her gently.

She nodded, remaining in his arms as they returned to the car. 'I come here a lot,' she said quietly, unlocking the door.

Marco nodded, climbing into the passenger seat. _Say something, you idiot! She's obviously asking whether you'll walk with her again._ 'It was fun,' he said staring ahead of him. 'There were so many things about Mexico I didn't have time to explain.' _Great, Almeida, you really let her know you'd love to see her again!_

Luckily she interpreted his feeble attempt at asking her for a second date, accepting with a warm smile that left his heart soaring. 'We'll come again tomorrow. There's another path you haven't seen yet. When are you free?'

'I only got one lecture in the morning,' he remembered, his heart pounding. 'There aren't any required tutorials this week.'

'Great, coz I got nothing all day,' she cried, cutting across two lanes without warning, her hand on the horn. 'I forgot we must turn left up there,' she explained as he clutched his seat in alarm. 'We haven't got the time to miss a turn. Your number will be called soon!'

He burst out laughing, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes. 'We've missed it long ago,' he assured her glancing at the digital clock. 'It's four o'clock.'

'Don't worry about it,' Rita told him, overtaking a truck and rushing through an amber light. 'We'll make it!'

Marco shook his head, settling more comfortably against his seat. If he was destined to die young, he couldn't picture a better way than beside Rita Torres. 'We won't.'

'Look, relax, would you. I was born here, I know how to get things,' Rita told him, parking in a spot before the building labeled 'reserved.' 'Let's go.'

'That spot,' he began.

'We shan't be long,' she interrupted, hurrying ahead of him. He was forced to rush after her, passport in his pocket. The lobby was as crowded as before, the number I 875 flashing on a screen above them.

'I've missed it,' he said regretfully. _What did you expect, Almeida? You were out picnicking with a gorgeous girl. The whole world won't stop for you!_

'Relax,' Rita snapped, hurrying over to the nearest counter with the number summoned flashing above it, pushing aside a middle aged man. 'Sorry, I was here before,' she explained, showing the useless ticket. 'Just had to leave to buy something. You don't mind?' Before the man could open his mouth she leaned across the counter, beckoning to Marco. 'He just needs a tax number.'

_Just like at home, Almeida. Beautiful girls get away with murder. They only have to smile at us and we let them walk all over us!_ He collected his new paperwork minutes later and hurried after her, sliding into his seat. 'Thanks.'

'Sure. You don't think I want to come back tomorrow? No, the path I'll show you is long. Did you like the sandwiches?' He nodded, and opened his mouth but she continued cheerfully. 'I'll bring the same kinds then, just a few more. Have you got a backpack to carry them in?'

'Sí.'

She dropped him at UIC after arranging to meet him in the same spot at 11:00 the following morning and drove home, cursing herself for her failure to discover where he needed to rush to by 7:30. It was definitely the first thing she would ask him the following day, casually. Something along the lines of an enquiry 'did you have a good time last night?' She was unable to stop humming as she drove home.

Marco climbed the stairs two at a time, his heart leaping. Filled with a never before experienced lightness he unlocked his door and collected an armful of clean clothes, the sight of Pale Eyes failing to dispel his joy. He turned the tap onto full heat and stood under it, his skin turning pink from the warmth, his mind on the picnic as he relived every sentence she'd uttered.

"_The trouble with you, Almeida, is that you never listen," his sergeant had screamed, ordering him out of line. Guiltily he kept his eyes forward and listened to the outraged howls, agreeing with him. "It's true. He was explaining that maneuver all morning, and what were you doing? You were admiring that building behind him, imaging how much better it would look with a balcony over the entrance! Quit dreaming Almeida, or this guy will kill you!"_ For the first time since he had completed his national service he laid his head against the tiles and laughed till the tears poured from his eyes. _You're wrong, sir. I DO listen if someone's got something interesting to tell me…_He laughed harder, shoulders shaking. Somehow he doubted whether he would forget a single word Rita Torres ever uttered.

Washing hundreds of dishes proved hard, requiring his full concentration as they kept piling up regardless of the speed he cleaned them. The plates needed emptying before he piled them in a large sink of near boiling water allowing the washing up liquid to dislodge dried pieces of remains before he scrubbed them, rinsing them in a second sink of clear water. A heater blew warm air over them, drying them within seconds and a girl worked beside him, laying them onto a table in preparation for being returned to hungry customers. No stranger to KP, his head nevertheless spun at the rapid pace. Señor Perez peered in a few times, urging him to move it. Hands red and shriveled he grabbed a glass of icy water in his five minute break, returning to his growing pile the moment he finished. The worst part of the evening came once the restaurant closed and the final dishes had been washed and stacked. A dozen pots waited for him in a row, all requiring urgent scrubbing. Sweat trickled down his forehead burning his eyes as he worked as fast as he was able to coax his weary body to move, longing to get back to his room and curl into a ball and fall asleep dreaming of her. As he finished the pots he turned them upside down on the table to drip dry, reaching for the next one, risking a rapid glance to make certain the pile was shrinking. It was fully 2:00 in the morning before he finished and stumbled out to the bus stop, his head spinning.

Pale Eyes was asleep, snoring softly as he crept into his room. Having already showered he undressed and slid into bed in the darkness, falling asleep the moment his head touched the pillows.

Waking by 8:00 required superhuman effort. Rubbing his eyes he climbed out of bed and dressed, noting Pale Eyes slept undisturbed at the other end of the room. He made two sandwiches as quietly as possible and ate them beside his bed, creeping across to the bathroom to shave. Tim was up, his door open, the coffee maker bubbling in the background.

Marco drew a deep breath and knocked. 'Hi. That coffee smells great._' You can always tell me to get lost if you're busy._

'Grab a mug,' Tim called, inviting him in. 'You look out of it. What were you doing?'

'Walking round Lake Michigan and working half the night,' he muttered, sipping a scalding coffee. You don't know how much I needed that to wake up. Thanks, Tim.'

'Don't mention it. Look, why don't you just come and help yourself to a coffee every morning. I'm usually out by now, training with the guys.'

Marco thanked him and returned to his room to grab his things for his first lecture in architecture. Heart hammering with excitement he hurried over to the College of Art and Architeture, unable to believe he was finally beginning his life's passion. _Please let the lecturer speak clearly. _

He was fortunate. The lecturer spoke slowly and clearly, gave the class plenty of handouts with his notes, and drew several diagrams on the board which he gave them sufficient time to copy. Filled with relief Marco left the lecture and returned his books to his room where he fully intended to scrutinize his notes and make certain he remembered every single word. His plans were thwarted by the presence of Pale Eyes together with two friends, one of whom nodded in his direction while the other two studiously avoided his gaze. Forcing his sigh aside he settled on his bed and opened his notes, unable to concentrate due to the loud discussion of the others.

'You should use the library,' Pale Eyes told him unsympathetically as he attempted to turn away.

He was relieved that Rita provided sandwiches for lunch as he would have been too embarrassed to withdraw his bread and honey in front of the crowd. Seeing her beside her car his frustration evaporated and he was unable to hide the grin that stretched across his face. 'Hi.'


	33. The Altercation

Three months passed in the same routine, lectures, tutorials, the odd presentation which he sweated over and every spare moment filled with Rita. He failed to understand how he had spent his entire life without knowing her but one thing was certain, he would no longer be able to do so. Life without her constant chatter was unthinkable. Occasionally he would lie awake on Monday or Tuesday nights and tell himself to take a step back, she was too wealthy for him, but he was unable to do so. Truth to tell, he didn't WANT to do it.

The weather deteriorated sharply and he met her at the library rather than in the park, where she read through his essays and suggested improvements, correcting his grammar. He reciprocated by writing her own essays in American history in point form, copying the sentences worth quoting from a host of books, saving her hours of time. They ate lunch together in the cafeteria, Marco choosing the cheaper meals, occasionally bringing her a cup of coffee as she held their table. She took him to see the various museums, the water tower and eventually to Spanish dancing, where he stood unnoticed at the back and watched the performance, enchanted by the way she whirled among the dancers. _She's the best of the lot, Almeida; the others don't even come close!_

'So how long have you been dancing?' he asked the next morning, sliding into his customary seat in the back row beside her.

'Since I was six years old,' she said cheerfully. 'Did you like it, last night?'

'It was great,' he replied warmly.

'And what did you think of mama?' she asked.

Marco fell silent, chewing his lower lip, unconsciously rubbing his neck. He had been terrified of Catalina Torres when Rita had slipped over to him between dances and pointed her out. Ramrod straight, dark hair drawn into a severe bun she occupied the front row, her hawkish eyes searching the room's occupants as though she sensed an alien presence. Their eyes had met for the briefest moment before she dismissed him with a slight raise of her eyebrows, turning to kiss a well dressed young man in a grey suit. 'Javier. How wonderful to see you.' He had dismissed Javier as some relative until after a dance, when he had taken Rita's hand and kissed her cheek, handing her a bouquet. She blushed and shook her head, her words lost in the room's chatter, but her mother's eyes had flashed and she had taken the flowers and pressed them into her daughter's hands.

'She looks a little strict,' he observed, not daring to voice his concerns.

'She is strict. It's her way - or no way!' Rita said with a shrug.

He nodded, believing her. 'And who was that guy?' he asked casually, unable to resist the question.

Rita let out a long sigh, her eyes fixed on the desk. 'He's just graduated from medical school. We've known them forever,' she muttered.

Sensing more, he turned to examine her. 'Your mother likes him. Why did he bring you flowers?' _Keep going, Almeida! Question her like the ignorant boor you are and frighten her away. Why can't you let it go?_ He failed to heed his own advice, aware he needed an answer.

'His father sits on the city council,' Rita began, twisting a pen through her fingers. 'His brother is a diplomat, and his uncle is an ambassador somewhere. Nowhere terribly important, you know, but still, it's an illustrious position. They got 28 houses, most of them small that they rent out, but they got three huge ones near the lake, and they got a property in California near Lake Tahoe, and another in Canada, where they invited us a couple times for skiing. Oh, I'm sure they got one in the Canary Islands, too.'

Marco nodded grimly. _Seems they're even wealthier than the Torres family. A lot wealthier, by the sounds of things._ 'Your mother likes him,' he pressed, uneasily.

'Mama would like me to marry him,' she admitted, her fingers white on the pen. 'She got this crazy idea years ago, and his mother, Tia Rosa likes the idea. I'm not sure why, we can't ever match them…'

An icy fist squeezed the breath out of him. _You know why alright, Almeida. She's beautiful. Everyone in the world would welcome her into their family…_ He gasped for breath, rubbing his face and chewing his lip so hard he tasted blood. 'You like him?' The words came out a lot harsher than he intended.

Rita stared at him in surprise, the angry retort to mind his own business dying unspoken as she observed his distress. Noting his cracked lip she withdrew a handkerchief and dabbed at the blood, shaking her head. 'Not that way, no. He's unsteady.'

'What?' he demanded, unfamiliar with the term.

'He likes every young woman he sees. I know all about that. Mama knows too, but she says it's not important,' she muttered darkly.

He breathed easier, sensing her indignation. 'His wife would have everything money can buy,' he remarked, watching her intently.

'Everything except a decent husband, sí. I'm not interested, Marco, I never was! I'm going to marry a man who comes home after work and helps round the house and who loves kids. Lots of kids,' she repeated emphatically, searching his face.

'How many?' he questioned in alarm.

'Six,' she said firmly, obviously having given the matter considerable though. 'Three girls and three boys. I've got their names all planned. How many would you like?'

Marco shrugged, not having given the matter a moment's thought. Eyes fixed on the lecturer he drew a deep breath. 'Six. A few boys and girls, doesn't really matter how many of each.' He waited for the customary swat on the shoulder but it failed to come.

She gasped instead, eyes dancing. 'Six! Really?'

'Shh,' he whispered, delighted at her reaction. 'Professor's looking at us. Sí, six,' he said softly, deciding it was a pleasant enough number.

'I'm going to call my first girl Jane,' she told him, head bent close to his ear. 'And the next one will be Justine. Do you like those names?'

Marco's eyes opened wide and he shook his head. 'No,' he said honestly, seeing her eyes darken. 'But it hardly matters. It is the mother's role to name the children. Whatever she decides is fine.'

'Really?' she cried, startled. The professor glared at them and he kicked her under the table.

'Really. Shh.'

'But that's…'

Marco pushed a blank sheet of paper over to her and put her pen in her hand. 'Write it down or you'll get thrown out,' he whispered, passing it to her. Stopping Rita from talking when a topic excited her was about as simple as planning a permanent colony on the moon, he thought, chewing his lip hard to prevent from laughing aloud at the idea. She glanced at him, scribbling furiously. Marco studied the question in silence, an ear on the lecture.

'Anna and Rita,' he wrote, passing it back to her. 'One girl should always be named after the mother,' he hissed as she tapped her pen questioningly at the name. 'What are you doing?' he whispered, narrowing his eyes as she folded the paper and put it into her purse.

'Keeping it,' she said smugly. 'Shh, or you'll get thrown out!'

Marco shook his head, rolling his eyes at her. Not if he lived forever would he understand how women thought, but he loved it anyway.

They stood outside the lecture theatre an hour later, debating whether to go to the library or for a walk. Marco, who was by far the more conscientious student suggested they spend the afternoon studying, possibly preferring the warmth of the library to the icy wind that howled round them. Rita, born in Chicago appeared undisturbed by the late autumn weather. Wrapping her hood round her face she smiled mischievously up at him, well aware he would agree to whatever suggestion she made. 'Let's go for a walk. I love to see the autumn leaves.'

Marco grimaced, cold despite the shelter of the buildings. 'There aren't anymore leaves, querida. They're all on the ground.'

'It makes a fantastic sound when you walk over them,' she told him warmly. 'Is that agreed then?'

'I guess so,' he said reluctantly, following her over to the car. 'What about lunch?' Freezing beside a lake was one thing, freezing and starving quite another, he reflected.

Rita shook her head, taking his hand. 'Men. All you think about is food! I packed us a lunch this morning, mama's away. You'll get to taste my sandwiches. Don't even think of complaining!'

'Wouldn't dream of it,' he assured her, fastening his seatbelt.

The day, which had began in such a similar fashion changed pace abruptly once they reached the deserted parks of Lake Michigan. Marco climbed out, collecting their sandwiches, a hopeful eye on her. _Come on Rita; please say we should eat first._ Noticing his hopeful expression she nodded at him. They ate in the car watching the myriad leaves flying in the wind before walking to the shore hand in hand, peering at the waves. As usual she led the way along a path, the wind blowing through his sweater freezing his bones. He was unable to hide his shivers.

'You really should get a coat, Marco,' she urged, staring at him. 'You're freezing.'

'I haven't seen any I liked yet,' he lied, his face turned to the water. _You can't afford it yet, Almeida. Without buying her coffees and cakes you could, but…_

'I'll come shopping with you tomorrow,' she insisted, slipping her arm closer about him. 'We'll find something.' Ashamed to admit the state of his finances he nodded wordless, resolved to plead a headache the next morning to avoid the trip.

'You're not working tonight, are you?' she asked, watching his poor attempts at looking comfortable.

'No, it's a Monday.'

She turned away, ordering him to wait for her. Wrapping his arms tighter about himself he nodded, settling on the ground to avoid the brunt of the wind. Never in his life had he been in such dismal weather, he thought miserably, and it was still nothing. The infernal snow was bound to fall soon. The thought of snow caused him to feel colder. Teeth chattering, he forced his mind to remember warmer times, Rita's arrival taking him by surprise. She wrapped the picnic blanket round his shoulders, laughing so hard the tears came to her eyes at the sight. 'Feel better?' she asked when she regained her breath.

'Yeah,' he agreed, his natural humor returning. _So you look ridiculous, Almeida! What the hell, at least you're out with the most beautiful girl in the world. In this kind of wind it's virtually guaranteed no one will walk past and laugh at you._ Slipping a cold hand from the blanket he took hers. Rita settled against him, her hair brushing his cheek. She tugged at his arm, her signal for him to bend down and wrapped the blanket round his head, helping him to warm up quicker. Their eyes met as they faced each other, her hand on his face. Without thinking of his actions he slipped his arm round her neck, tilting her face upwards. Her lips opened a crack before he reached them, warm and sweet smelling, inviting his lips inside her. Marco pulled her closer, his tongue parting her lips. She yielded, trembling, eyes shut as he probed her mouth, warm shivers coursing through her.

'I'm sorry,' he whispered, breaking away abruptly.

Disoriented, she blinked, noting him watching her embarrassed. 'What. Why?' she gasped, grabbing his sleeve.

'Querida, you're the loveliest girl I ever met,' he said softly, tilting her chin to stare into her eyes. 'Anywhere. There's nothing I'd love more than to marry you tomorrow, but I just can't do that right now. Not for a long time,' he concluded gloomily. 'You need to finish your degree too, and go out some more with Javier and others and make sure you don't want them, and if you still want me, I'll be here - waiting.'

She stared at the earnest brown eyes before her too shocked to speak, noting the love that shone from them. 'You'd marry me?' she choked.

'If you still want me,' he repeated adamantly. 'But not now, Rita. Like I said, you need to finish your degree first.'

'What about now?' she questioned, breathless with excitement.

'We stay best friends?' he suggested, squeezing her hand tightly. 'You come to dinner with me tonight, I can finally afford it!'

'I'll pay,' she said, pushing her arm inside the blanket to slip it round him.

'No, you're my guest tonight. Say yes,' he urged, eyeing her hopefully.

She nodded. 'I'd love to, if you're sure you wanna waste your earnings on me.'

'It's not a waste,' he said seriously, tucking the blanket round both of them as they walked further, arms intertwined.

They ate together in a cozy Italian restaurant miles from the university to preserve their anonymity, chatting over plates of lasagna with Italian salad. Rita reached into his bowl and boldly removed his radishes, lifting them straight into her mouth. 'My favorite,' she said, grinning at him as she crunched them.

Once again the breath caught in his throat as he examined her eyes, desperately hoping she would pick him to be the father of all her six children with the unusual names. _Jane and what was the other one? _He shrugged mentally, digging through his salad to discover hidden pieces of radish to present to her.

Rita watched him eat, longing for a second chance to feel his lips pressed against hers. Instead she cast a hurried glance at the customers who entered to make certain they were not Spanish. The last thing she needed was for her mother to discover the existence of Marco. Without logical reasoning she knew how horrified Catalina would be, aware of the powerful gossip that would surely circulate.

They walked past the car to a park at the top of a hill, Rita insisting he explain the constellations. Taking her hand he pulled her towards him, pointing upwards. 'See that bright one over there. Now look below, no there…That's Taurus. This one's my favorite, the Bear. And there's the North Star. Sailors navigate by that, in this hemisphere at least. They don't see it past the equator.'

She cuddled closer against him amazed at his vast accumulation of facts. 'Could you find our way home by looking at that North Star?' she asked, dreaming of the two of them lost in some arctic wilderness with him leading her home, arm around her, eyes searching the sky.

'Sí,' he agreed confidently. 'We had to do orientation in the army. It's the only thing I passed successfully.'

'Show me more,' she insisted, unwilling to end the night so early. 'There's supposed to be some arrow…'

'An archer, sí,' Gentle hands turned her face and pointed upwards. 'See that…'

'What have we here?' a voice interrupted, harsh in the silence. They jumped, Marco's grip on her waist increasing imperceptibly. They stared into the surrounding darkness towards the direction of the voice unable to see anyone in the gloom.

'Let's go,' he said quietly, instincts heightened, aware there were several people in the dark bushes. Gently he turned her round, giving her a slight push towards the direction of the car, reluctant to alarm her but feeling the need to leave immediately.

'He's running,' the voice continued, each syllable drawn out in disbelief. 'Shit useless, these spics. Out with our girls and they run when we arrive. What's your name, darling?' The last question was addressed directly to Rita by a youth in a torn t-shirt wearing black jeans.

Her heart skipped a beat as she moved closer to Marco, avoiding his gaze.

'I asked you something, bitch!' he said, stepping in front of her to prevent her escape. 'What's…'

'Leave her alone,' Marco said, his voice firm, the order startling her. 'Come.' The last order was addressed to her and she moved closer to him, stepping round the youth, who put out his hand and grabbed her arm.

'Not so fast, bitch. I haven't finished yet. Check her out. She's hot!'

Marco chewed his lip in rage as he felt her beginning to tremble as they were surrounded by what his training told him were at least eight hostiles. 'Take your hands off her,' he snapped, his temper rising.

'Or what?' the first youth asked, blowing smoke from his cigarette into his face. 'You gonna make me.' He laughed into his face, pulling Rita towards him. 'I'll take her first…'

A white hot flash of rage rushed through him as he turned to the group. Peaceful and slightly indolent as he was he had only ever experienced it a handful of times before, each time with dire consequences as he lost control of all reason. Noting the youth dragging Rita he lashed out, catching him squarely on the jaw, his fist connecting with a sickening thud. His opponent crumbled to the ground, choking on a mouthful of blood. 'Go, Rita,' he snapped, pushing her roughly. 'Run.' She remained rooted to the spot a moment longer staring at the scene in disbelief. 'Run,' he yelled as the rest of the group surrounded him. Shocked, she moved backwards, watching as they started shoving him in their circle, pushing him viciously from one to the other, each one dealing him a blow as he attempted to fight back.

Marco Almeida was no weakling. Raised as the youngest in a family of five he had defended himself from slights regularly. Fists clenched, he gave as good as he got, ignoring the blows he received. The sheer number of his opponents inevitably wore him down as he sank onto the ground under increasingly savage blows, the world spinning before him as he noted her presence in dismay. _Maldita sea! She's still there. Why the hell won't she run?_ His struggles intensified as they knelt on top of him, slamming his head into a path.

'Leave him alone,' Rita cried outraged, her hands seizing the first object she could use as a weapon to defend him – a metal garbage can lid. She raised it, slamming it with full force onto the head of the man kicking Marco in the ribs, shocked to see him crumble to the ground.

'Bitch,' one of the fallen man's friends cried, turning to grab her.

Marco stirred, kicking out, knocking him to the ground before he could reach her. 'Rita, run…'

'Freeze,' snapped an authoritative voice and blinding light surrounded them causing her to cover her eyes. Four police officers leapt from a car, night sticks in hand. 'On the ground, hands on your heads,' one yelled, knocking over the first youth he reached. Muttering curses they lay down, hands over their heads. 'You too,' one yelled, kicking Marco over with his boot.

'Don't touch him, he just defended me. They attacked us,' Rita gasped, rushing to his defense.

'Stay where you are, miss,' one ordered, grabbing her arm. 'You say you were attacked.'

'Yeah, by those thugs.' Indignantly she pointed at them. 'He's hurt,' she said, dangerously close to tears. 'Help him…'

'That's a lie,' a youth yelled, outraged. 'We were just out for a walk like, and that spic attacked us! He broke Dan's jaw!'

'No way,' Rita yelled furious at the lie. 'They attacked _us_! Think, officer, would we want to fight nine guys?'

'That spic started it,' the youth insisted. His friends raised their heads, confirming his story.

'Alright, I've heard enough,' an officer decided. 'On your feet. Hands on the car.' He dragged Marco up, shoving him against the patrol car. Face burning with humiliation he remained still as he was frisked, avoiding her eyes. 'Alright, he's clean. Slowly place one hand behind your back.'

'He didn't do anything,' she cried in disbelief as his hands were cuffed behind him. 'They…'

'I got someone with a head wound,' another officer called, flashing his torch on the man she had attacked. 'Hit with a blunt instrument.'

'That bitch hit him with the lid,' a youth began.

'No, she didn't. It was me,' Marco said, his tone expressionless. Heart bursting with indignation he stared at the group who were given permission to rise, determined to protect her. 'She's just a girl.'

They appeared to understand him. 'You admitting you attacked him with that instrument?' demanded an officer, pulling out his notebook.

Narrowing his eyes he nodded. 'Yeah.'

'Marco, that's not true. That was me,' Rita began, shoving the officer who held her aside and rushing to his side. 'Why…'

'Go home, Rita,' he snapped, longing to bundle her into her car.

'Go home, miss,' the officer said, agreeing with him. 'You can come make a statement tomorrow. Get in the car.'

Chewing his lip he bent his head, two officers pushing him into the back of the patrol car, shackling his wrists. One ordered the youths to sign a statement at the station and they started the car. 'Wait,' Marco begged, struggling to free himself. 'You can't leave her out here alone. At least take her to her car,' he insisted.

'Good idea. Let's go.'

Longing to cry he remained silent, eyes fixed on the seat before him, heart aching. _What a nighmare, Almeida. You're in real trouble now and you'll probably never get to see Rita again. They'll deport you._ He blinked hurriedly, ignoring the pain of his battered body. _Please God let her get home safe. I'll be okay, just help her._


	34. Bailed Out

Marco followed the first officer into the police station as slowly as he dared, the man behind him shoving him forward. Face burning with humiliation he was marched past a counter and over to a row of seats, shackled into one of them beside a girl clearly high on some illicit substance. Masses of tangles hung round her shoulders as she mumbled incoherently. A drunk sat on his other side while two men cursed each other in the foulest language he had yet heard directly behind them. Chewing his lip he stared ahead, hating his presence among them.

His heartache changed to rage as the entrance slid aside revealing the entire group of his attackers minus the two who had been injured. They lounged against the counter demanding to see someone about making a complaint. The harassed officer behind the counter urged them to take a seat; she would be with them directly. Grumbling and cursing they sat on some plastic chairs, gazing boredly round the room. 'Hey, professor,' one muttered at an elderly man who remained at the counter, insisting his dog had last been spotted near the market.

'Sir, if you'd just take a seat we'll be with you shortly,' the officer begged.

'But the dog's dangerous. If she gets someone, I won't be held accountable,' the man protested pulling on a white beard. 'I reported her lost yesterday.'

'And we'll get to it, sir.'

'Relax prof. Just give us a hundred bucks and we'll shoot it for you,' one of the youth said, making a rude hand gesture. Marco squeezed his eyes shut.

'And what do we got here?' one yelled in joy, striding over to the drunks. 'Drunk and disorderly, ah. Hey, there's the spic.' His cry attracted the attention of his friends who jumped up gladly to crowd round Marco. 'We'll get your bitch,' he said, face close to enable him to hear his whisper. 'What's she like?'

'Go to hell,' he snapped, his cuffs preventing him from placing his hands round his neck and squeezing.

'That's where you're headed, dude. Of course she'll follow you real soon, once we've had our fun…'

'That's enough already,' a voice yelled. 'Take your seats. Get moving,' the officer snapped, unlocking his cuffs. 'That way,' he muttered, pushing Marco forcefully away from the group. 'Just can't seem to quit looking for trouble, can you? Sit down. Name and address?' He banged the door to the interview area behind him, the sound indicating finality.

Marco scowled at the table in silence wishing for nothing more than to be released so he could deal with the entire group. 'You deaf, or are you going to pretend you don't speak English?' continued the officer in growing annoyance.

Marco drew a deep breath. 'They attacked me,' he said, eyeing the incredulous officer.

'Of course they did. That's why we got two of them on their way to hospital as we speak. Name,' he repeated. 'Okay son, have it your way. You can spend the next few days in the hole if you like.'

'Marco Almeida,' he said quietly, wondering why he was being assigned the entire blame.

The officer regarded him quizzically. 'Are you a citizen of this country?'

'No,' he said. 'I'm studying here.' _WERE studying here, more like it, Almeida!_

'Then you're not entitled to free counsel,' the police officer said with satisfaction. 'Why don't you tell me what happened in the park?'

Marco began the explanation of how they were accosted from behind some bushes but the officer frowned at him. 'The truth, I mean. This isn't going to help you.'

'It is the truth,' he protested bitterly.

'Fine,' remarked the officer unsympathetically. 'You're off to processing. Anytime you change your mind, let me know. Let's go.'

Marco followed him from the room, the hated cuffs back on his wrists as he was led further into the police station. He was ordered to place his thumb in a patch of ink and watched the prints taken in silence, marshaled over to a tape measure beside a wall before he could gather his thoughts. _You've been fingerprinted, like a real criminal._ Heart beating wildly he struggled to pull an impassive face when they took his picture. 'Fine,' the officer told him. 'Move it.' Not having any other option he followed him down the corridor to a door consisting of steel bars, which the officer unlocked.

'Welcome to the fish tank,' he said sarcastically, leading him over to a crowded room filled with the worst bunch of desperadoes he had ever seen. 'Get inside. I strongly recommend you greet everyone properly, we don't tolerate any fighting in here!' He left, giving Marco a meaningful look, slamming the door behind him.

Marco's eyes took in the entire room as he moved slowly from the door. A bench ran the length of the room, totally occupied. It appeared it was indeed a busy night in Chicago, at least in the police station. Men stood in groups or individually, cursing each other. He moved over to a corner of the cell leaning against the wall, fighting an overwhelming urge to cry.

'Hey, carnal,' a Latino greeted him, moving to join him. 'How come I never seen you round here before? Where you from?'

'Chihuahua,' he muttered, eyeing the man's tattoos.

'Ah, a Mexican. Why are you here?' Two more of his group joined him, studying him with interest.

Having little other choice, he explained the sorry tale as briefly as possible.

'That's no good, carnal,' his new friend told him, indignantly. 'Who were they, gavachos?'

He nodded dully. 'Sí.'

'You wanna give us some names? We'll deal with them.'

Marco shook his head in a hurry. 'I don't know their names,' he said bitterly. 'They didn't introduce themselves…' _They just ruined your life, Almeida, that's all!_

'You'll see their names on the court affidavits,' the Latino explained, obviously familiar with the judicial system. 'I'll be seeing you round, you just let me know and I'll send someone to visit them.' An evil smile crept across his face. 'Bruno Rodriguez,' he said. 'We're Latin Kings!'

Marco nodded, having guessed as much from the crowns tattooed on each of them. 'Gracias,' he said, having no intention of complying. The next couple of hours dragged by while he leaned against the wall watching the constant coming and going of inmates. Head spinning in the ceaseless racket it was almost a relief when an officer appeared and yelled his name through the bars. 'Almeida, get moving.'

_Gladly._ He walked through the open doors and back to the interview room where a different officer awaited him. 'Sit,' he ordered without looking up from his paperwork.

Marco sat back in the chair heart hammering. 'You wish to change any part of your story?' the officer inquired. 'I got seven signed statements assigning you the role of perpetrator.'

_What?_ He stared at the officer in silence.

'Alright, you don't have to.'

Numb, he signed the document informing him of his arrest and followed yet another officer down a different corridor and into a tiny cell the size of a bathroom. 'Clothes,' the officer snapped, nodding his head at the bundle Marco had been handed at the reception desk. 'Get changed.'

Marco spent the worst night of his life dressed in the orange jumpsuit they handed him huddled in a corner, knees drawn tight to his chest. The thought of remaining where he was for any length of time terrified him. His lowest point came just before dawn when he was cuffed as they escorted him to a bathroom. Back in his cell he buried his head in his knees and wept.

Rita pushed her way past the officer and entered the captain's office. 'Tio Rodolfo,' she began, her voice wavering. 'I need a minute.'

'Sure, honey,' he agreed, a close friend of the Torres family since before her birth. 'What can I do for you? You didn't murder anyone and conceal a body, did you? I got two unidentified male corpses…' He paused, sensing her distress. 'Why don't you tell me about it?' he suggested kindly.

'You got my best friend here, and you got to let him out right away,' she began, drawing a deep breath. 'He didn't do anything wrong, except defend me from a group of hooligans. He'll die here if you keep him locked up.'

'Wow, let's slow it down,' the captain suggested, intrigued, the distraction welcome. Unidentified bodies were a major headache, necessitating countless reports and investigations, and so far neither of them corresponded to anyone on his missing persons register. A visit from his friend's daughter, her cheeks scarlet with indignation was pleasant, especially as it promised fresh gossip. Not that he actually listened to gossip, of course, but it wouldn't hurt hearing about something before his wife, for a change. Sipping his customary black coffee he begged her to take a seat, handing her a packet of cookies.

Ten minutes later, eyes large, he dared ask the question he had been considering since her arrival. 'You like this boy?'

'I love him,' she cried, her eyes lighting up. 'I'm going to marry him when we finish college.'

'What about Javier?' he inquired, well aware of Catalina's designs.

'He's a playboy and I hate him,' she said rapidly, cheeks a deeper shade than before. 'I love Marco. He defended me real well in the park yesterday and it was me who hit that man with the garbage can lid and not him, only he'll admit to that too to protect me. They'll put him in jail,' she finished, bursting into tears. 'It was all my fault; I wanted to go for a walk.'

'Does your mother know about him?' he was unable to resist the question.

'God no,' she cried, horrified. 'She'd kill him.'

The captain nodded, deciding she was probably right. 'And he asked you to marry him after only three months?'

'No, _I_ asked him to marry _me_, and he said he would when we finish our degrees if I still want him,' she corrected, rubbing her eyes. 'You got to let him out. Please, please.'

'Let me look at the paperwork,' he suggested, needing time to examine the case. 'Why don't you wait outside, sweetie.'

Rita paced the lobby while he frowned through the case, shaking his head at her sadly as she returned. 'Sweetie, we got eight witnesses who swear he started the altercation and threw the first punch. The case has already gone before the prosecutor, and there's no way he'll be acquitted.'

'What are you saying?' she asked, horrified. 'You can't put him in jail!'

'There's no way he'll avoid it, looking at this realistically. Let's hope he'll make bail.'

'I'll pay it,' she said firmly, eyeing him disappointed.

'You sure about this boy, sweetie. It's an awful lot of money to lose when he takes the first train back to Mexico.'

'He wouldn't do that,' she insisted. 'Yes, I'm sure.'

The captain nodded. 'Why don't you go wait downstairs,' he suggested, resolved to speak to Marco personally, if only to protect himself from Catalina Torres once he skipped bail.

Eyes blank Marco sat in the chair Rita had just vacated, forcing an impassive look onto his face. His heart beat wildly as he cast a glance at the officer in the resplendent uniform, wondering what else he was about to be charged with. Something serious this time, by the looks of things, otherwise his presence would not be required.

'So you're Marco Almeida,' the captain began, leaning forward to study him intently, noting his disorientation and obvious depression. 'Why won't you explain what happened yesterday?'

The boy shrugged, eyes dull. 'What for?' he muttered, refusing to look up from the desk.

'I need to get a few things straight. Your two counts of assault will cost you a month of jail time each. That's two months, hmm. Not good, if you're planning on completing an intensive year at UIC.'

Marco gazed at him startled. 'They're not deporting me, sir?'

'Not for this,' the captain assured him. 'Now why don't you explain exactly how those assaults took place.'

He shifted restlessly. 'My friend wanted to go for a walk to see the stars,' he began, rubbing his face. 'These guys came out of nowhere, they insulted her and grabbed her arm and wanted to…to hurt her. I hit the first one to force him to release her, and I told her to run. Is he hurt bad?'

'He lost ten teeth and got a broken jaw,' the captain replied, studying him intently. 'Keep going. Tell me about the second assault.'

'They started hitting me and I got this lid to defend myself,' he muttered, averting his gaze.

'Interesting. You see, I have a statement from Rita Torres swearing _she_ used the lid to defend _you_.'

Marco gasped, shaking his head in a hurry. 'No sir. I got the lid. I banged the guy on the head. How is he?' he questioned, praying he wasn't dead.

'He's recovering from a concussion with eleven stitches. Explain one thing to me, Almeida. How could you reach the lid surrounded by seven guys?'

Rubbing his neck he fought to recall the crime scene. 'I reached it just before they surrounded me, sir.'

'Aha. So this Rita Torres is lying?'

He glanced at the captain struggling to decide what was worse, assault or lying about it. 'Sí. She probably wants to protect me,' he muttered.

'He must love her very much,' the captain decided. Catalina Torres was going to have a battle on her hands judging by the look in the boy's eyes as Rita's name had been mentioned. An expression like that indicated he would go to the gallows to protect her. 'Good luck,' he said. 'I'll do what I can, of course, but it won't be much. You've got your arraignment hearing in an hour. You'll have to go back to your cell till then.'

Rain lashed his face as he was shoved into a police car and driven the short distance to the court house where he spent the following two hours in a holding cell awaiting his appointment with the judge. When he was finally summoned he found his heart beating so wildly he was terrified he would pass out. Crowds moved through the building, a few in a hurry while the rest lingered outside individual courtrooms on chipped seats. The first thing he noticed as he was led to his seat was a white-faced Rita, hands clasped together in the front row. He managed to cast her a look of reassurance he failed to feel as he settled.

The judge glanced at him for a fraction of a second, read the prosecutor's report, and closed the document before he faced him. 'How many days of college have you missed since the beginning of term?' he inquired.

Marco's eyes widened at what he perceived an irrelevant question. 'None sir. My English is not good enough for me to be able to take days off.'

The judge nodded. 'I see no reason to refuse bail,' he decided, glancing once again at the young man before him. 'However….You're not a citizen of this country. You got no ties to this community. I shall have to set bail at a considerably higher level in your case to make certain you'll return for your trial. You're also required to surrender your passport. Have you got any family or friends who might post bail?'

Heart aching, he shook his head. 'How much is it?' he asked quietly.

'Ten thousand dollars.'

He shook his head again, numb.

'Think about it. Your trial won't be held for another two months. Do you really wish to stay in jail?'

_Two months in a cell. No, no, definitely not! I didn't do anything!_ 'I don't have anyone,' he muttered. _No way in the world could Papa raise even 500 dollars._

'Your choice. You're being charged with two misdemeanors, loitering and assault, plus two counts of assault causing bodily harm. Since you have waived the right to pre-trial release I'm ordering you confined to Cook County Jail.' Marco bowed his head in despair, helpless in the face of such unyielding bureaucracy.

'Wait a minute, your honor,' a familiar voice began. 'I'll post his bail. It was 10 000 dollars, you said?'

Shocked, he stared at his dearest friend as she rose to her feet, eyeing the judge. The judge stared at the young beauty and nodded. 'You're certain about this, young lady?'

'Yes I am, sir,' Rita replied, her voice unwavering.

Marco gazed from one to the other mystified, shaking his head. 'No, I can't go anywhere. You're not dropping the charges, right?' The judge shook his head, watching the pair of them intently. 'I'm not using your money, Rita,' he said emphatically.

'I've already decided to pay,' she cried outraged. 'Don't you turn away from me, Marco Almeida!'

'Querida, I can't cost you money. It's not right,' he insisted.

'But you're not. I'll get it back once you show up for the hearing. You saved my life,' she added, longing to slip an arm round him.

'She'll get it all back,' the judge agreed. 'I'll expect you back for your trial on the 3rd of December.'

'We'll be here,' Rita assured him, turning to him. 'You got something to sign. I'll sort out your bail.'

He signed the document informing him of the misdemeanors he was being charged with and left the building in relief, blinking in the warm sunshine, his head spinning from lack of sleep. Wordless he climbed into the Impala beside Rita, wanting only to rest. A hand touched his arm gently, massaging it.

'Are you okay, Marco?' the sweetest voice in the entire world asked. 'You got beaten up quite bad in that park.'

'I'm fine,' he whispered, his eyes closed.

'Will you ever forgive me?' Rita continued, her voice surprisingly shaky. 'Going for a walk was my idea…'

Startled at the shaky tone he opened his eyes, heart clenched at the sight of tears glistening in her eyes. 'Hey, Rita, none of it was your fault,' he began, determined to ease her guilt. 'We went for a walk, ok? There's nothing wrong with that. I could've told you no, but I didn't want to. I wanted to spend more time with you. If anything, _I'm_ the guilty one here. I should've sensed those guys.'

'But they hurt you, and now you're being charged, and you'll end up with a record…'

'So I'll end up with a record,' he muttered, considering it made little difference as he was returning to his family the moment he finished his degree. 'I'm not the only one, querida. That place was packed out!'

'But they're charging you for the assault with the lid too, and it was _me_,' she whispered, giving way to tears.

'Hey,' he said, reaching forward to slip an arm about her, an eye on the road. 'You stayed to help me. You used that lid because I was unable to fight anymore, so if that's not my fault, than I'd like to know whose it is. I let you down!'

She shook her head, struggling to focus on the traffic. 'You done great. You held up seven guys. I could've run for it.'

Marco fixed her with a stern gaze. 'You _should've_ run for it! I told you to run for it! Try anything like that again, Rita, and the friendship is over!'

She stared at him horrified.

'I'm serious. You're tough, you can cope with crappy weather a lot better than me, and you hit that guy as well as I could've, but I don't want you doing anything like that again. Querida, you're a woman! You're not as strong as me, you never will be. Keeping you safe is _my_ responsibility. How can I do that if you won't listen?'

She glared at him in annoyance. 'You got a caveman's mentality.'

'Sí, you're right. I'm the man; it's my job to protect you. My father would've protected my mother; it's the way it goes.' He stared into her annoyed eyes willing her to understand. 'I couldn't have lived with myself if anything happened to you,' he said gently, squeezing her shoulder.

Rita gulped, noting how pleasant the word 'responsibility' sounded when her safety was discussed. Caveman he might be, but he had defended her against eight men enabling her to dash to her car and flee the scene had she chosen to do so. She replayed the incident from his sudden authoritative voice ordering that disgusting man to take his hands off her to the first punch he threw, to the punches he'd dished out as he was surrounded by the remaining seven. A new feeling swept through her, pride. Apart from being intelligent, amusing and boasting looks to kill for, he was an excellent fighter. _And he loves me. He's facing extra jail time to keep me from facing charges._ She returned the squeeze on his arm, turning her face momentarily from the road. 'So you think you're responsible for me, Marco Almeida!'

He nodded satisfied to see she appeared to understand his point. 'Aha.'

She waited to hear an explanation of his reasons but he remained silent, apparently assuming it was obvious. A sense of peace filled her as she watched his exhausted face from a corner of her eyes. Hearing his breathing soften she turned towards her home determined to check his injuries and fuss over him, aware her parents were in New York for the following two days.

'Where are we?' he muttered sleepily as she shook him awake.

'My home. I'm going to put some band aids on that face,' she said, tracing a line of split skin.

He jumped in alarm at the thought of her mother discovering him in such a poor state. 'Rita..'

'They're not home,' she assured him, helping him from the car. 'Come in.'

Marco stepped inside a three storey house, his feet sliding over polished parquet. Three large vases stood in a corner below a mirror beside which a cabinet filled with smaller antiques stood. An oil painting of the family hung over it showing a much younger Rita with the older brother she had described, doll in her arms. A mahogany coat rack hung on the opposite wall, empty. Several doors opened from the hall and a spiral staircase led upwards. His eyes followed it, comparing the house to his own much more modest home.

'Come upstairs,' she insisted, grabbing his sleeve. 'The bathroom's that way.'

Ignoring her he stood rooted to the spot, his eyes studying the remainder of the building. 'Querida, I can't, it's not right,' he said gently.

'Don't be ridiculous! This is the twentieth century. I won't hurt you, I promise!'

He snorted in annoyance, following her upstairs slowly, limping with his left leg. She watched his progress making a mental note to examine it. 'There's the bathroom. Get undressed and I'll fill the bath. You can use that room over there, it's a spare one.'

He remained where he was, his cheeks crimson.

'I won't look,' she promised reluctantly. 'I'll just start your bath and wait for you downstairs. Take your time, we got all day.'

He nodded slowly, admitting the hot bath he slid into was the perfect cure for his bruises and his aching muscles. She had added something to the water, its pleasant scent filling the air as he laid his head back shutting his eyes. Alone for the first time since his release he pondered the consequences beyond the obvious one of facing a couple of weeks jail time. _Oh boy, Mama and Papa will be mad when they hear about it. They'll insist on your remaining home after the next summer vacation._ He shifted, allowing the bubbles to cover his stomach. _They'll be hurt too._ He sighed, sliding his entire body underneath the water to wash away the shame of the previous evening.


	35. In Rita's House

Marco emerged from the bathroom half an hour later encouraged to leave only by the cooling water. Wrapped in a massive towel he pulled the door open silently and peered into the corridor to make certain it was deserted before he slipped across into the spare room and dressed, his natural optimism returning. Grasping the banister he hobbled down the stairs and paused uncertainly, unaware which of the many doors concealed Rita. Hoping to hear a noise he could follow he listened but nothing stirred beyond the cat which rubbed against his leg.

'Hi,' he said softly, stooping to pat it. 'What's your name?'

'She's called Bell,' Rita told him emerging from behind a closed door, lifting the cat into his arms. 'You can hold her if you like, she's friendly. Are you hungry, sweetie? She probably is, you know. Come to the kitchen for a moment.'

Marco followed her along the wide hall to the opposite room, entering the largest kitchen he had dreamed a private house could possess. Expensive cream tiles lined the floor and walls laid in a diamond formation, a few patterned pieces forming a flower at regular intervals. He settled on the chair she pointed him to while she opened a cupboard, emerging with a tin boasting a picture of a Persian cat. 'Where's your bowl, Bell?' she enquired, picking it up and rinsing it.

'What is that?' Marco asked, studying the can with interest.

'Cat food. It's her favorite.'

He watched the cat intrigued as she devoured the meal, shaking his head. 'You mean you buy food for the cat?'

Rita nodded, placing the can in the bin. 'Sure we do. Should she starve?'

'No. Doesn't she eat leftovers?'

Rita burst out laughing, shaking her head. 'Bell's fussy; she'd never ever _look_ at leftovers. Have you got a cat too?'

'We got two,' he replied, considering the difference between the manicured Persian and his own two tabbies. 'They eat leftovers and mice!'

'Mice,' she cried startled. 'Is that good for them?'

Marco placed a hand over his mouth to hide his grin. 'They never got sick from it! We saved money on mousetraps anyway. You should see them playing with a captured mouse before they kill it.'

'How could you watch such a thing?' she cried, swatting his sore shoulder. 'That's cruel. Mice look cute, they got such sweet eyes.'

'They're vermin,' he replied, unable to imagine what his parents would say if they heard a mouse referred to as 'cute.' 'They bite.'

'No they don't,' she cried, rinsing her hands after the bin. 'You're making it up, Marco.'

He shook his head seriously, eyeing the cat food with interest. 'I assure you I'm not. One bit my hand when I picked it up by the tail.' Seeing her interest he settled more comfortably in his chair, placing an elbow on the table. 'I was going to throw it at my sister,' he admitted.

'Oh please,' she cried, shuddering at the thought. 'You were horrible.'

He nodded slowly. 'I guess so. She had the last laugh. Mama took me to the doctor right away for a series of needles against rabies, just in case. I never touched another one after that! That cat eats better than some people,' he concluded, his eyes refocused on the bowl.

'Are you hungry?' she asked, cursing herself for her thoughtlessness.

He nodded. 'Sí. They brought some food but I couldn't get it down.'

Rita ordered him to remain where he was and cracked two eggs over the frying pan, making omelets with tomatoes. Mouth watering he watched her, getting up to help with the coffee. They ate together, Marco doing his best to take small bites rather than wolf the entire plateful down at once. 'You still hungry?' she asked and he nodded shyly, relieved to see her prepare another two eggs. Hearing a sound suspiciously similar to a sniff he glanced up, noting her wiping her eyes.

'Hey, Rita, what's wrong?' he asked gently. 'I'm only a little bit hungry now.'

'You're going to starve in jail,' she observed miserably.

'Sí, you're right. It's not a place where they serve the best food. Don't worry, querida, I'll cope.'

'How can you be so certain?' she demanded, laying the fresh plate before him.

Rubbing his face he risked a glance at her through his fingers, deciding to tell her the truth. 'I spent a month in jail already,' he muttered. Shocked eyes gazed into his own before she shook her head in disbelief. 'It's okay,' he assured her gently, taking her hand. 'It was in the army.'

Rita breathed easier, swallowing a little of her coffee. 'What did you do? Fight someone?'

'No. I went for a walk and I was away a little too long. You have some letters for it, but I can't remember right now.'

'You went AWOL?' she cried in delight.

'Sí, AWOL. That's what they charged me with, anyway. We were stationed up in the mountains in the south and I done my stint of sentry duty after which I was technically free to amuse myself anyway I chose till my next stint at 16:00. Querida, I wasn't much of a soldier, my sergeant was forever pulling me up for daydreaming. This time I had a map and old history book about some deserted Mayan ruins and I decided to go check them out. I was right there, after all. It took a little longer to locate this old temple than I thought as it was overgrown and there was no path, but I got there in the end. And well…I could _see_ it, Rita, just as it had been when it was new, filled with worshippers. I'd never seen anything like it even in the books on the Mayas so I drew it on some paper, first the way it was decayed and overgrown, and then the way it would have looked, complete with a road…It was almost dark before I finished.'

She shook with silent laughter. 'What did they do when you returned?'

'I got back at dawn; it took that long to get down the mountain in the dark. I wasn't exactly my sergeant's favorite and that last stunt really pissed him off. He took me to the captain and said I should be charged with desertion, but I got lucky. The captain liked the drawings…and I did return of my own free will…he agreed I'd make a fine architect. Then he said he'd have to punish me to help me remember that a soldier never leaves his post, not even at peace time, so I got sentenced to a month in the stockade. The food was real awful till they discovered I could draw…They brought me photos of their kids and I sketched them for fresh fruit.'

'I didn't know you could sketch portraits too,' she said, frowning. 'Why didn't you tell me?'

'Coz I can't,' he replied, pouring himself a second coffee. 'Not well, anyway. They're recognizable but something's lacking. When I was a kid I used to draw caricatures of my teachers with hideous faces during class – they were real popular!'

'Among the other kids or the teachers?' she choked, delighted.

'The kids. Somehow, none of the teachers appreciated my efforts. The principal even called my parents in when he got hold of a picture of himself…He threatened to expel me but Papa begged him not to, so I ended up suspended. Great holiday it would've been too if Papa hadn't been so annoyed. I spent the entire three days working on the fields from dawn till dusk, apart from siesta time, of course, until I was glad to return to school!'

Rita leapt to her feet calling to him to stay put, returning moments later with a pencil and blank sheet. 'Draw me.'

Rubbing his face he shook his head. 'You're about the only friend I got right now, querida. I won't do anything to risk that.'

'Come on,' she pleaded, slipping an arm round him. 'You should know I'd never get offended.'

Drawing a deep breath he nodded, motioning her over to the window. 'Now try not to move,' he said absentmindedly, the same way he had begged all the dozens of toddlers in his tiny settlement to remain still. 'Just remember you're not gonna get mad!'

She shook her head, excited. 'Rita, don't move. Give me a smile.'

'I wish I could see your parents' farm,' she said dreamily, twisting a strand of hair round her fingers. 'And your cats.'

His eyes opened wider. 'Ah…They'd have to be washed first. We did once, just before my grandmother was expected. She's from Barcelona, used to clean houses and furniture. My brother Tomas and I grabbed our cats and put them in the bath and held them there while mama rubbed shampoo into their fur. They looked fantastic afterwards; it was only us who had scratches the length of our arms.'

Hand clapped over her mouth she shook with silent laughter, shaking her head at him. 'Marco that's awful! Don't tell me you never heard of pet manicure.'

'I haven't,' he remarked, sucking the pencil. 'Rita, could you turn back exactly the way you were before.'

She sighed as she watched him draw, forehead creased from concentration. 'You had a fantastic life.'

'It was fun,' he agreed smiling at the memories. 'Still is, I assure you!'

She blushed, delighted. 'Really? Even with all the trouble I got you into?'

He nodded, sketching her eyes. 'Sí, really. Rita…no, don't turn away. I need you to sit still for at least another five minutes.'

She nodded, turning to him with a patient expression. 'Is that okay?'

'No, that's not you! Remember hitting that guy over the head with the garbage can's lid?' She nodded, her eyes lighting up. 'Stop. Keep that expression, just think of that lid. That's you!' A while later he laid down his pencil, dissatisfied. 'You can come look at it now. It's not real good.'

'It's great,' she cried, impressed.

He shook his head. 'It's not, but it's free!' He handed it to her, standing up. 'I should go now. I need to get some sleep coz I've got to work tonight.'

'Wait,' she exclaimed, leading him to an immaculate lounge. 'I wanted to check you for bruises. Take off your shirt.' He rolled his eyes, complying reluctantly. Rita knelt beside him, examining all the areas that sported blue or green bruises, hissing in sympathy. 'Does that hurt?'

'Of course. Don't worry, it'll heal.'

She rubbed cold cream from the fridge onto them, assuring him it would help. He doubted it, but allowed her to fuss over him, loving the feeling. Hands white with cream she worked him over steadily while he amused her by recounting snatches of conversation from the fish tank. Occasionally she gave a squeal of laughter at some amusing comment, clapping a hand round her mouth and smudging it with cream. 'I didn't know people like that existed,' she said, genuinely puzzled.

'Well, I can assure you they do,' he told her, wiping some cream off her face with his fingers. 'See, the things I discover about Chicago! Just think what a lot of tales I can tell you once I spend a coupla weeks with them!'

Tears filled her eyes as she laid down the cream, burying her head in his chest. 'Oh Marco, I'm so sorry…'

'Hey, we've been through this before,' he reminded her, his heart warm.

* * *

Seven weeks passed peacefully enough as they followed their routine. Marco noticed a new tension as he checked his mail each morning, dreading to receive anything from the justice department. Once he'd checked his mail discovering nothing he breathed a sigh of heartfelt relief and began his day, throwing himself wholeheartedly into his studies, preparing essays that required completion only by the end of the term. _You'll be in jail sometime then, or during the next term. Better prepare if you wish to pass this year._ He worked hard at his job, managing to save a few hundred dollars, most of which went towards payment for the room, but a little of it laid aside for fun with Rita. His parents had raised him in the traditional way which was as natural to him as breathing – the man paid for movies, ice-creams, and coffees. Just before the first snow fell he took Rita shopping and allowed her to pick him a coat, trudging patiently after her and forcing himself to remain silent as she pointed out dozens of various designs for him to try.

An ominous envelope awaited him the following morning. His presence was required in court in two days to discuss his case. He slipped it into his bottom drawer and attempted to forget about it but the day was lost. Rita noticed his lack of focus. Filled with apprehension she asked the dreaded question. 'Did they write to you yet?'

He nodded. 'Yeah. I'm sorry, querida, I'm not much fun today. I knew they would write, and yet I still feel upset.' She squeezed his hand in sympathy distressed at his preoccupation. It was obvious he dreaded the immediate future and she felt frustrated at her inability to help him.

Lacking counsel he stared at the copy of the plea bargain the Public Prosecutor offered, heart aching. The terms were less favorable than he would have desired, but the sentence after a court trial would be harsher still. His chances of acquittal by a jury were virtually non existent the prosecutor explained, his tone expressing boredom as he stared at the two of them side by side.

'Why?' Rita demanded, glaring at him. 'He's not guilty.'

'He is guilty, miss.' He glanced at Marco coldly. 'That guy lost a lot of teeth! The way a jury would see it, you're a foreigner newly arrived in this country who attacked a group of boys, causing injury to two of them. You've had military training. It would look bad. You wouldn't stand a chance in hell of an acquittal and the judge would then sentence you to anything between one and three years for aggravated assault which is a felony, bearing in mind the use of the bin lid as a weapon. Plead guilty to the lesser charge of assault, which is simply a misdemeanor, and you'll get out in three months.'

'So it's three months then,' Marco said dully, signing his name on the document. 'Is there any chance I could serve this during the summer vacation?'

'I'm sorry, son. It starts from the moment I'll hand that document to the court,' the prosecutor told him. 'Unless you're prepared to pay the fine of 10 000 dollars instead.'

Marco's eyes widened in shock. 'I'm in custody already?'

'Yes. Unless…'

'I don't have 10 000 dollars, sir. I don't even have a 100,' he said softly, his fingers clenched round the pen.

Rita tapped on the table. 'I do. I'll pay…'

'No, querida. I'll take the jail time.'

The prosecutor nodded, taking the documents from him.

'Wait,' Rita exclaimed furiously. 'Marco, listen to me. This was all my fault and I've got the money. I _want_ to help you. I'll pay the fine,' she told the prosecutor.

Marco slammed his fist into the table, startling them. 'I said no, dammit! I will not be responsible for taking your money, Rita, _now or ever_. You have my answer,' he snapped at the prosecutor. Seeing her hurt look he glanced at the official. 'Can I just speak to her for five minutes?'

'You got five minutes to say goodbye, and then you're back to the fish tank awaiting transfer to jail.'

'You're moving him!' Rita cried distressed. 'Why can't he just stay at the police station?'

'They're not equipped for that,' he said, leaving them to bid each other farewell. A deep silence stretched between them broken by Rita who rose and turned her back concealing her indignation.

Marco got up noiselessly and slipped his arm about her, hugging her close. 'Rita, I'm sorry I yelled at you. Will you forgive me?' he whispered. 'Please querida. I can't go to jail knowing I've lost my only friend.'

Tears poured down her cheeks as she turned to hug him, burying her face in his shirt. 'Why, Marco? Why are you so damn stubborn? I would've paid the fine.'

His fingers ran through her hair as he kissed the top of her head in relief. 'I don't know how much you've got, Rita,' he began hesitantly. 'I don't need to know, okay. But let me tell you one thing, whatever you got is yours. I'm not taking a dollar from you, under any circumstance whatsoever. I got a favor to ask though.'

She nodded, wiping her face. 'Anything.'

'Write me sometimes. I'll be real lonely. And if you could go check my mail, just keep it till I get out.'

'You got it,' she agreed.

Hearing the door open he pulled her closer to him, feeling her arms round his neck. 'Rita, I'll remember you offered to pay the fine. It meant something, in here.' He pressed her fingers over his heart, causing fresh tears to pour from her eyes as she felt it beating beneath her touch. 'I love you,' he whispered, releasing her as an officer placed him in cuffs.

* * *

'Why wouldn't he take it?' she wept, her head pressed into the captain's chest. Awkwardly he patted her hair, attempting to offer what comfort he could.

'Listen to me, Rita. You got yourself a nice guy. What happened in the park was unfortunate, but since then he's taken the fall for the pair of you and refused your money. My advice is: keep him. He'll make you a great husband! And for God's sake don't let your mother know I said that.'

* * *

Marco followed the officer into another crowded cell similar in all respects to the first one he had been hauled into awaiting processing. Without thinking he searched the area for the Kings but there was no sign of any of them. Fighting shame he settled in a corner wondering how to pass an entire day before his transfer to jail. _Jail! I'm so sorry, Mama and Papa, I can't even imagine what you'll think when you'll hear about this._ Leaning against the wall he pictured the arrival of his letter informing them of the slight glitch. _You're gonna cry, Mama! As for you, Papa, I'll be hearing about my poor behavior during the entire summer vacation! How I wish I could be there with you now…_


	36. Cook County Jail

Cook County Jail was more crowded than any place he had ever seen in Chicago besides the railway station. Marco entered as slowly as possible following a ramrod stiff black man who had turned to glare at him a handful of times during the bus ride. Humiliated beyond words he stripped with the rest of the incoming prisoners and submitted to a search, shower and delousing, the powder thrown at him blinding him. Tears poured from his burning eyes as he stumbled about denied a second visit to the shower. Yelled at by guards he was unable to see through tightly shut eyelids he was shoved into line, squeezing an eye open long enough to find a pile of clothes, an off white sheet, a blue blanket and a thin sponge 'mattress' dumped on the counter before him. 'Get it moving,' snapped the officer behind the counter and a guard shoved him aside.

'Get dressed, asshole!'

Marco wiped his eyes desperately and opened them another crack discovering a threadbare undershirt, a pair of boxers with a large hole in the front, worn socks a revolting shade of grey, a torn t-shirt and an orange jumpsuit. He dressed in silence, marshaled over to a second desk by the same impatient guard. 'Sit.'

He settled at a desk before a bored middle aged woman in a white coat. 'Medical history,' she demanded.

He shrugged. 'I was never sick.'

'Communicable diseases? Psychiatric care?' she enquired in an icy tone.

Marco shook his head in a hurry, his face crimson. 'No.'

She jotted a few notes on the open form on the desk before raising her head to regard him for the first time. 'Why haven't you rolled up your sleeve?'

'Why?' he whispered, terrified he knew the answer. _She intends to stick some needle into you, Almeida. They're all the same, these doctors! They refuse to believe you're fine!_

'For your blood test, of course!' She pulled a dish forward and removed a syringe while he watched frozen into immobility. _Oh no. No no no._ 'Your sleeve,' she snapped.

Trembling fingers rolled his jumpsuit as far as his shoulder. The nurse grabbed his arm and forced it onto the desk, glaring at him. She jammed the needle into his arm and he winced in pain, silenced by her scornful look. He remained silent after that, watching while she filled three containers, placing them on the desk before her. 'We need one more,' she said, reaching for an instrument that resembled a pump. Without further elaboration she set to work, pulling the last drops of blood from his vein. 'Alright, in there.' She pointed to a curtained booth and handed him a bottle. 'Hurry up.'

Scarlet faced, he stood within the cubicle staring at the bottle clutched in his fingers, willing himself to think of water. _Come on Almeida, she'll send that guard in after you if you don't oblige. Think of water, rain, waterfalls, the lake…_

He slunk out quiet as a phantom, laying the bottle on her desk. Once again his arm was grabbed by the hostile guard whose grip squeezed the very spot the nurse had pieced. He hissed in pain, his discomfort ignored by the guard who pushed him along the makeshift corridor and into a brightly lit room with white plastered brick and grey vinyl. 'Place your thumb into the ink,' he instructed.

Marco obeyed; relieved his arm was released, examining his stained thumb in silence. Without protest he stood against the wall for a second photo after which his arms were cuffed before him and he was led to an orange plastic chair. Ordered to sit and wait he allowed his thoughts to wander, picturing Rita beside him in the lecture theatre, her cheerful chatter distracting him from the slightest chance of comprehending anything. Gradually the room filled with the fresh intake while a guard kept a belligerent eye on them from the end of the corridor. His eye roamed over his fellow prisoners carefully, aware of their dislike of being examined.

'What the hell do you think you're staring at, spic?' demanded a tattooed thug. 'You wanna a broken neck?'

Marco shook his head, averting his gaze in a hurry. He had resolved to keep to himself and obey all instructions without attracting extra wrath. A pale boy sat beside him, fingers shaking. 'It's gonna be okay,' he whispered softly, deciding that someone that age should be in school rather than in their present dismal surroundings.

'Alright, get moving, you bunch of losers!'

'Man, you can't be calling us names,' protested the black man, echoed by all the prisoners with the exception of Marco who felt overwhelmed by the courtyard they passed. Entering a second building he found himself surrounded by locked doors.

'What the hell's wrong with you, spic?' snapped the guard, shoving him forward. 'Quit gaping and move it if you know what's good for you! You're down the back!'

The back consisted of one large dormitory style room containing fifty single beds packed so close together a man could barely move between them. Men lay around in various stages of undress, a host of unknown tattoos visible on virtually all of them. Taking care not to allow his eyes to rest on any of them to avoid provoking further wrath he followed the guard to the middle of the room to an unoccupied bed. 'You're down there. See you read the rules on the door!'

Marco laid his rolled up mattress on the iron frame shivering in the poorly heated room. Conversation flowed round him as he surveyed his new 'home.' The guard moved further, assigning two thugs beds and ordering the entire room to 'keep it down.' The noise level subsided temporarily, long enough for the guard's yell 'what the hell's with you asshole?' to reach his ears. He jumped, unsure what he had done to attract attention. To his relief the guard appeared engrossed with shoving the young prisoner forward. 'You put your stuff on that bed, or you get a trip to the hole. It's your choice!'

The teenage boy he spoke to appeared dazed, rooted to the spot in the center of the aisle. Irritated, the guard shoved him against the wall. 'I'm warning you, asshole. You're gonna learn to cooperate in here or you'll find yourself in such shit…'

Marco failed to comprehend what drove him forward; he only knew that he appeared before the guard, reaching past him for the boy's mattress. Silently he laid it on the bed, turning the boy by the shoulder. 'What's your name?' he enquired softly.

The teenager blinked at him, visibly calmed by his presence. 'Raoul James,' he muttered.

'You'll be okay, Raoul,' Marco said soothingly, eyeing a host of bruises on the boy's face. 'Give me your sheet and blanket.' He laid them on the mattress, pulled up by the belligerent guard.

'Your bed is back there, asshole! What the hell do you think you're doing here?'

'Helping Raoul settle in,' Marco answered, returning to the sheet.

A hand with an iron grip grabbed his shirt. 'Stand up when I speak to you! Who the hell asked you to help out, anyway?' He shook Marco roughly. 'Who do you think you are asshole, Mother Teresa?' A snicker followed from the inmates who appeared glued to the spectacle. 'I asked you a question, asshole,' snapped the enraged guard.

Marco stared at him in silence, unsure what answer he was expected to give. 'Cat got your tongue? Or have you forgotten your English? Get back to your bed on the double!'

Chewing his lip he obeyed, praying the boy would pull himself together long enough to make his bed. Shocked at the disrespect accorded a person his parents held in high esteem he unrolled his own mattress placing it over an iron frame, finishing his task within a minute.

'What's your name, asshole?' demanded the guard, returning.

_Oh God, won't this bastard ever leave?_ 'Marco Almeida,' he replied politely.

'Marco Almeida, you'll be in real shit if you don't remember the word 'sir' in a hurry. And that's no way to make a bed.' He reached forward, pulling the sheets, blanket and mattress to the floor. 'Fix it up.' Throwing him a hard stare he turned away, his footsteps echoing through the dormitory.

Shaking his head in irritation Marco picked his things up from the floor and remade his bed feeling the eyes of the remaining 49 occupants of the room boring into his back.

'So Mother Teresa, where you from?' demanded the same prisoner who had glared at him outside, all hostility gone.

'Mexico,' he replied, spreading the blanket over his sheet.

'I knows that. Man, I can hardly understand what yous sayin'' the prisoner continued. 'Whachu in fo'?'

_He's got problems understanding you!_ 'Assault,' Marco replied, folding his arms.

The prisoner looked interested. 'Who you beat up, man? Some XXXXing bitch?'

_What?_ 'I fight with nine men who tried to hurt my girl,' he replied, removing a photo of his parents and depositing it on his pillow.

'Yo man, nine guys. Next thing yo'll be tellin' me, you beat em up!'

'They beat me,' Marco admitted, turning crimson.

'How long they got?' his companion demanded, sitting uninvited on his bed.

'They didn't. They were not charged,' he said sadly, leaning against the wall.

'Yo man, that ain't fair! No XXXXing way that's fair! You alright, Meskin!' He left, clapping Marco on the shoulder so hard he nearly winced.

Lunch was chaotic to the new arrivals who stood in line uncertainly, casting their eyes over a massive dining hall filled with brown tables and plastic chairs. Marco collected his tray from the serving hatch and settled at a vacant table, waiting for the boy to join him. They ate slowly, the pie barely edible as far as he was concerned and the Jell -O's appearance turning his stomach. _What is that?_ He doubted either of his cats would touch it. _It just confirms your suspicions, Almeida. Humans will eat anything as long as it's served on a plate!_

'Yo, Meskin,' the talkative prisoner greeted, settling beside him. 'Ain't you plannin' on finishing that?' He pointed at the Jell-O.

_He wants that green slime!_ Marco handed it over. 'You can have it.'

'Why don't you wanna have it?' demanded the prisoner, finishing it in two bites.

'Look at the color. Nothing I have ever planted looks that shade of green. This is made in a factory, together with the chemicals we spray on the crops,' he explained.

The entire table stared at him in silence. 'Whassup man? You some foreign professor or something?' someone demanded belligerently.

'No, I am a farmer,' Marco explained.

'You sound like one. Ignorant shithead.'

Marco collected his plate and returned it to the hatch, following a few prisoners outdoors to the yard. _Don't take it personally, Almeida!_ An icy breeze blew through his clothes and he pressed his arms to his sides, shivering. A massive wall encircled the yard, cutting off all view of the outside world. A row of benches lined the wall closest to the door filled with gossiping prisoners. Several men occupied themselves tossing a ball into a basketball hoop. Lifting his head he gazed at the grey sky, struggling against giving way to tears. _God help me. I don't know how I can take this._

'Hey, carnal,' a voice called and he turned, recognizing the speaker.

'Bruno Rodriguez,' Marco said, genuinely pleased to see him. 'The Latin King.'

'Sí, carnal. I heard you at the dinner table. You some crazy vato, you know that. Annoy those putos about their meal, they'll kill you. Nobody wants to know about ingredients! They just wanna enjoy it, and you spoilt it for them!'

Marco lowered his eyes. 'I didn't mean…'

'Forget it, carnal! How long you got, anyway?' questioned his new friend.

'Three months.' Marco chewed his lip grimly. 'Just long enough to make certain I fail the entire year.'

'Fail what, carnal?' his friend demanded.

Marco took a deep breath and explained what he studied at university, adding that he was already struggling with the English language without spending a third of the academic year imprisoned. His friend shook his head in sympathy, assured him the world was unfair and introduced him to several other gangsters. 'Remember, carnal, you got a problem, you call us. We'll be seeing you, architect.'

Marco opened his mouth to explain he was technically nowhere near being termed an 'architect' but shut it again. The title sounded too good to be dismissed.

The day passed slowly followed by an entire week of the same monotony. Cook County Jail was so overcrowded he never got a chance to wash the dishes, or work in the laundry, spending the time aimlessly wandering the yard or lying on his back in the dormitory examining every square inch of the ceiling. He was deep in contemplation of the possible depth of the foundations for such a building when footsteps beside his bed startled him. 'Almeida, get up. You got a visitor.'

He stared at the hostile guard in speechless amazement, rolling off his bed in a hurry. Rushing to the bathroom he ran his comb through his hair and splashed water on his face, following the fortunate few through the block and into the admissions block. Being minimum security prisoners they were led into a large hall and seated at tables, ordered to remain in their seats for the duration of the visit. Heart beating rapidly he stared at the door, willing it to open.

Once again the breath caught in his throat. Arms loaded with as many books as she could carry, Rita advanced through the room looking as though she were searching for a seat in a cafeteria. 'Hi, Marco,' she said, throwing her arms about him. 'I missed you so much,' she whispered, her breath warm on his cheek. 'How are you coping?'

Unable to keep from grinning he nodded. 'It's painfully boring, but I'm coping.' _I'm cold all the time, sweetheart, their uniforms are barely warm enough to keep out the wind, and I'm always real hungry, but I'm coping._ 'I miss you,' he muttered, pulling her closer for another hug.

'Almeida, you've been told the rules. One embrace is permitted at the beginning or conclusion of a visit. Disobey that and you're back in your dorm.'

'I'm sorry sir, it won't happen again,' Marco apologized, eyes lowered.

'Just make certain you remember that!' The guard left, leaving Rita eyeing him in shock.

'What the hell was that about? Who is that bastard? How dare he tell you when to hug me?' she cried indignantly.

'Shh, querida,' he said softly, longing to draw her into his arms. 'This is a jail, remember. I gotta follow their rules if I wanna get a chance to see you.' Gentle brown eyes looked at her, melting her heart. 'And I DO want to see you.' _I nearly go crazy thinking about you._ 'Rita, your mother would kill me if she knew where you were.'

Rita nodded, not bothering to deny it. 'She would. Lucky for us she doesn't know, right? Look, I bought you all your texts, and I got you some presents too. Every book on the required reading list.'

His breath caught in his throat. 'How did you get the library to lend them?'

'I bought them,' she explained, laying a hand on his arm. 'Shh, Marco, don't even try protesting. You're in here because of me. It's the least I could do.' She lifted the books individually showing him the titles while a lump in his throat threatened to choke him at the thought of owning them. 'I also got you paper and pens, and the list of essays you haven't completed yet, so can write them up. I'll hand them in. And I got someone taking notes that I'll photocopy for you and post to you, so you won't get left behind.' Anxious eyes met his. 'Is there anything else you need, Marco?'

He shook his head bemused. 'No. You thought of everything querida. I might even have a chance after all. Rita, how much did all this cost you?'

Two pairs of equally stubborn brown eyes interlocked. 'You lack manners, my friend. You should know you never ask the price of a gift,' she reminded him, glaring at the guard who sauntered past. 'That guy acts like he owns the place. If he bothers us again I'll remind him he's just a low ranking state employee!'

Marco shook his head alarmed. 'Querida, please don't. Every peacock needs his spot – a place where he can be admired. This guy runs my dorm. I try to keep out of his way. Trust me, it's best this way.' To his dismay the visit ended swiftly and he grasped her in his arms unwilling to let her go and leave him alone in his dismal surroundings. 'Adios, Rita. I love you,' he told her; tilting her face to his as his lips drew hers.

She wiped a few tears away furiously as she was ushered to the door, among the last to leave. Heart aching he summoned the last shreds of his self control and smiled at her, blinking an army of tears away once the door closed behind her. _Pull yourself together this instant, Almeida. You've survived a week of imprisonment and you got twelve more to go. Keep your mouth shut and avoid that guy and you'll get to leave real soon. Read your books in the meantime._ He picked them up, handing over a note bearing the warden's signature giving him permission to take possession of them.

The following three weeks passed a little faster than the first. Marco spent every waking moment in the library studying his books and writing his essays relatively undisturbed. After the second day the librarian gave him permission to leave his books behind the counter for safe keeping. After the second week he offered to correct the grammatical errors the completed essays were loaded with and allowed him the use of a typewriter to present them more professionally. 'Look, architect,' he said, leaning over the desk, 'it's your lunch time. How often do I have to keep reminding you of that? They won't feed you later if you miss out.'

Marco thanked him and hurried to the mess hall sick with hunger. Stomach growling he wolfed his meals in huge gulps despite his firm resolve to chew his food properly and make it last longer. Sheer hunger beat his best intentions daily. After lunch he wandered into the icy yard for a half an hour walk, returning gladly to the warmth of the library. Face buried in a book he was able to forget he was in fact in a jail.

Rita visited him religiously every week, noting his sharper features in concern. 'Don't they feed you?' she asked, obviously dissatisfied with his assurance that he ate enough. She transferred him a small sum insisting he use it to purchase food items from the commissary. Promising he would repay her for every cent he bought chocolate bars and candy, filling the gaping hole in his stomach. His tolerable existence ended abruptly through no fault of his own in the middle of the fourth week.

He ate the usual bland lunch in the dining hall his mind occupied with the essay he worked on, impervious to the usual threats and insults that flew between tables. Chewing a dry egg he grimaced, brought back to his surroundings by the unexpected taste. _What kinda hen would lay that? It must be awfully sick!_ He pushed it round with his fork unable to decide whether it was safe to eat. 'Yo, architect,' began his black companion. 'I see you looking at that there egg. It's okay, it's just reconstituted. Eat it.'

_Reconstituted._ Marco whispered the word to himself eating slowly, resolved to look it up in the dictionary the moment he returned to the library in case he would need to explain to the doctor just what he had eaten later in the day. A shout drew his attention. His companion stood beside him, fingers round a white thug's throat. His victim turned an unhealthy shade of red, eyes bulging.

'Hey, stop that. He's had enough,' Marco protested, finishing the last of his potatoes in a hurry. 'Let him go!' he snapped as the prisoner showed no sign of complying. 'Dammit, the guards will come!' A loud whistle interrupted him just as the entire room erupted in chaos, white against black. The SORT team burst in, unmuzzled dogs racing round the dining hall barking furiously.

'On the floor. Hands on your heads. Don't move, assholes.' Dogs raced around the group of prisoners their breaths hot on his neck. Marco lay on the floor motionless, head turned sideways to keep an eye on events without allowing a hint of fear to surface. _Keep it together, Almeida. Just ignore the dogs and they'll ignore you._ A scream forced his head a little further and he chewed his lip in distress.

'Remove that dog,' he yelled watching an especially savage Alsatian grab Raoul's leg. His words were ignored, the guards gathering amused round the terrified boy. Marco rose, leaping over two prone bodies and grabbed the dog, pulling it from the boy. The incensed animal turned its attack on him. Savage teeth sank into his arm and he yelped, grabbing the animal's front legs. 'Take the dog or I'll kill it. I was trained to do it,' he warned.

The SORT team appeared to tire of the performance. One grabbed the dog and hauled it off him while the rest set about beating the entire room with their nightsticks, singling him out for special attention. Not a few ended up in the infirmary after their punishment, Marco among them receiving a dozen stitches and a tetanus booster before he was released and hauled into a silent waiting room filled with the former occupants of the dining hall. The block supervisor dealt with them in short shift, sentencing one after the other to a term in the hole. Only Marco's case merited special consideration.

'You got anything to say for yourself Almeida?' he inquired, studying his file. 'You disobeyed a direct order to remain on the ground and threatened to kill a police dog!'

'Sir, it was attacking a kid,' Marco protested. 'I didn't hurt that dog, it hurt me!' He pointed to the bandage covering his entire arm below the elbow, to no avail.

'You're in here for assault, as I can see,' the officer said coldly. 'We allowed you to use the library to continue your studies. Doesn't seem to have made any difference. You're a hot tempered troublemaker who needs to be calmed down.'

'Sir, I wasn't even involved in the fight,' Marco argued, his eyes fixed on the words the officer added to his file.

'You got six weeks in the hole. I suggest you use that time to calm down if you wish to avoid deportation!' He nodded at a guard who pulled him up by his cuffs and led him through the courtyard to another block. After a detailed strip search he was led along a corridor and marshaled into a bare cell half the size of his bathroom which contained nothing beyond a sponge mattress thrown in behind him.

He sank onto it disheartened, his eyes requiring a few minutes to adjust to the gloom before he made out a hole in the center of the cell. _Keep it together, Almeida,_ he ordered himself sternly. _You got six weeks in here, that's 42 days. You can do that, and then you'll only have another 3 weeks to do before your release._ All the pep talk in the world failed to keep his tears at bay as he considered missing Rita's visits.

To his surprise he was released from the hole precisely 42 days later. Humbled, he followed the guard along the same passage, eyes narrowed to tiny slits to avoid the painful light cast by the fluorescent lamps above him. Outside the sun blinded him. Hands cuffed behind him he was unable to cover his face, screwing his eyes tighter as he lowered his head. The ground felt different beneath his feet as he followed the guard, the crunch unfamiliar. Risking a quick glance beneath him he gasped in amazement. White snow covered the concrete yard obscuring the lines drawn for the basketball court, hanging in icicles on the hoop.

_It snowed. You missed out on seeing the first flakes hit the ground. This is snow!_ He followed the guard indoors filled with regret at his lack of opportunity to touch it. Once the guard left he was greeted warmly by several occupants of the dormitory, the Latinos crowding him. 'Hey architect. Hey carnal, how was it? How's your arm?'

Marco found himself grinning stupidly at them, the sight and sound of friendly voices filling his eyes with tears. 'I'm okay,' he muttered, rubbing a hand across his face in irritation. 'It's the light,' he explained hurriedly.

A few of them patted him on the back, settling on his bed. 'We went to the library after we got out,' Bruno explained cheerfully. 'We sent your completed essay to your girl, and we tried to finish that other one you were working on, but it didn't come, carnal. We're sorry.'

Marco stared at their apologetic faces and burst out laughing. 'You're not telling me that's the first time you ever went to a library?' he inquired cautiously.

'Carnal, solitary seems to have done you in! Do I look like a guy who hangs round libraries?' Bruno protested indignantly. 'You wanna do anything now?'

Marco nodded. 'I was going outside to see the snow,' he said, eyes sparkling. 'It's the first time.'

The Latinos followed him over to the yard teasing him mercilessly as he bent to collect a handful. 'Damn it's cold.'

'Right, carnal. It's cold,' Bruno agreed, gathering a handful and slipping it inside his jumpsuit.

Marco gasped, stooping to collect a handful which he threw at his friend, dodging a few more snowballs from the group. Laughing in wonder he made his first snowball, patting it into shape before he hauled it at Bruno, falling flat on his back the next second as he lost his balance on the slippery surface. Raucous laughter greeted his demise as a dozen snowballs landed on him while he held up his hands in mock surrender, tears of mirth in his eyes.

Their childish game was halted abruptly by six guards who ordered them inside, berating them for their dangerous pastime. Once again Marco was singled out for punishment, ordered to follow two guards as the rest of the group was returned to the dormitory. 'You appear to like snow, asshole,' one of them told him. 'That's good as we were looking for someone to clean the path. Take that shovel and clear off all the snow.'

He set to work willingly, amused at the punishment. Familiar with physical work from his earliest infancy the task failed to tire him as he dug into it, loosening it and sending it flying high over his shoulder. Sweat moistened his forehead as he finished, moving to join a uniformed official who beckoned to him. 'Come here, convict. What's your name?'

'Marco Almeida, sir,' he said hesitantly, wondering what he had done to attract the wrath of the official.

'I've never seen anyone clear this path so fast. From now on I expect you to clear it every morning. That's all,' he finished.

The final three weeks of his imprisonment sped past, the morning occupied with clearing the path and the afternoons spent working in the library or writing letters to Rita. The highlight of his day came with the morning mail call where he invariably received a lengthy letter from his dearest friend filled with gossip about their classmates and her family and informing him of just what outings she planned on his release. He read them to himself dozens of times in the evenings before the lights were dimmed lingering on her assurances of her love for him.

She waited for him on the steps of the jail, coat wrapped round her against the bitter cold. Marco took a step towards her, pausing to take her in. 'Marco,' she squealed, rushing into his arms with such force he was knocked a step backwards. 'You're free. Let's get outa here. Pick me up!'

Swallowing tears of joy he lifted her into his arms, twirling her round until the world span alarmingly and he was forced to stop. 'Let's go, querida. I'll tell you all about it,' he promised, carrying her to her Impala. 'You want to get down now, Rita?'

'No,' she admitted, laying her cheek against his shoulder. 'Key's in my pocket. You can drive.'


	37. Homeless

Cradling her head against his sweater he kissed her again half wishing he was able to spend the entire day in the car. Reluctantly he pulled himself from her grasp placing a final unmonitored kiss on her forehead. 'Gracias, Rita.'

'You should go now,' she told him, obviously just as reluctant to part company as he was. 'See you tomorrow in history.'

Marco stepped into ankle deep snow, shivering involuntarily. The marvel he had felt on first experiencing it had long since worn off and he trudged through it to the student housing building, his heart leaping with the sheer joy of walking where he pleased unescorted. The elevator's door slid aside for him as he pressed the call button and he leapt inside, pushing the third floor button. Imagining the welcome scalding water on his skin he reached his room unlocking the door in relief. _It's good to be back._ He took a step inside, pausing in disbelief.

_Where are my things? Whose stuff is that on my bed?_ Instead of his familiar blue blanket a brown one covered his bed. Posters of unknown pop singers hung above it, strange shoes lay near his drawers and his photo was no longer on the cabinet. Alarmed, he checked the number on the door, filled with dismay when he saw that he had of course entered the correct room.

'You came to return the key, I guess,' Pale Eyes said, pushing past him. 'Just leave it on the desk.'

'What do you mean? Where are my things?' Marco asked struggling to comprehend what he saw.

'Your junk is in Tim's room. He said he'd keep it for you till you collected it.'

'But why?' he asked, cut off by an indignant roommate.

'You didn't pay the rent.'

'I'm only two weeks behind! Just gimme a week!' _You can't do this, you bastard._

'I already found a new roommate, someone who'll actually pay,' Pale Eyes told him. 'Now hand over the key or I'll call security. This is no longer your room, convict!'

His face turned hot as the world spun around him, the title lingering in the air between them. _Convict! Get used to it, Almeida. He's just the first one to call you that. Wonder how he found out…_How his secret was revealed was of secondary importance at the moment, however, as he stared at the hostility in Pale Eyes' face. 'Here's your key,' he muttered, pushing it onto the desk, slipping noiselessly from the room. Stomach churning he knocked on Tim's door half hoping he was out.

The door opened moments later and Tim gave him an awkward nod. 'You came for your stuff?'

'Yes.' Tim opened his cupboard and handed him his backpack full of his things. 'It's all there, you can check.' Marco nodded wordless, knelt on the carpet and glanced through the contents.

Lifting it onto his back his eyes met his friend's. 'Thanks.'

'Sure.'

Marco lifted his guitar case into his hand and opened the door, longing to leave the building before his stomach would dislodge the breakfast that had been churning inside it since his discovery that he was now, in effect, homeless. 'Marco, wait. Have you got anywhere to go?' Tim asked, following him to the lift.

'Yes,' he lied, almost leaping into the elevator. Outside in the icy wind he pulled his jacket from the backpack and slid it over his sweater, tying the hood under his chin. _You're doing great, Almeida. You've been homeless for all of one minute and you're already freezing!_ A wild gust slammed the door behind a girl as she hastened past him while he leaned against the wall chewing his lip to keep his tears away. _Get moving, Almeida – you can't stay here._ He took a step from the shelter of the building entering the full brunt of the wind. _Go where, though?_

The library was warm and quiet. A few people cast him odd looks as he carried his things inside but forgot about him once he hid them behind a desk and pulled out his notes. Desperate to catch up, he worked hard the entire day leaving only when an irritated librarian leaned over the desk insisting they were closed. He carried his things to the cafeteria and bought the cheapest sandwich, remaining at the table till he was shooed from the room. 'We're closed, now!'

It was colder than before when he emerged, piling both sweaters under his coat. He walked to a quiet area of the grounds and huddled beneath a tree, his things piled at his feet, struggling to discover a way from his predicament. _Go home, Almeida, it's the only logical solution. They'll be glad to see you. _He pressed his head closer against a trunk, his heart rebelling at the thought of leaving his dearest friend. _No, I can't do that. I just need to find another job and I'll be able to afford a room. I haven't failed the year yet!_ The hours of darkness stretched to infinity as he forced himself to keep alert.

Once the janitors opened the bathrooms he moved inside and warmed his icy hands under the hot water tap, his fingers requiring a full five minutes before the ability to move them returned. Slowly he washed his face and fumbled through the backpack for his comb and shaving things tidying himself as best he could. He was the first to arrive at the cafeteria where he warmed himself with a steaming coffee and sandwich, remaining there until his lecture began at 9:00.

Heart filled with relief he grinned a greeting at Rita as she slid into the seat beside him a mere five minutes late. 'Hi, querida.'

'Hey. It's great to have you back.' Her arms wrapped round his neck she kissed his cheek, her face warm against his own. 'What's the lecture about?'

For the first time since she'd met him he shrugged, having found it impossible to focus. His head span from exhaustion and the struggle to decide where to spend the following night. 'I'm not sure.'

Puzzled, she stared at him, noting the shadows under his eyes. 'Are you okay, Marco?' she asked, worriedly.

'Sí,' he replied, a sudden thought occurring to him. 'Could you do me a favor, Rita?' She nodded firmly, fixing her undivided attention on him. 'I don't have much space to store my things,' he began, hating the need to obscure the truth. 'Could I ask you to take my guitar and a few of my books that I don't need to your place for a coupla months, just till I take them back with me this summer?'

'Sure,' she agreed amazed. 'Don't you need your guitar?'

'I don't have much time for it, sweetheart. I'm trying to catch up with the assignments,' he lied, avoiding her gaze. Once the lecture ended he carried his things to her car, laying his guitar case in the trunk. She watched while he hunted through his backpack and left seven of his favorite books beside it. 'Gracias.'

'Are you sure you're okay?' she pressed, sensing something was amiss. Once again he nodded, forcing a reassuring smile. 'You going to be studying in the library today?' she asked and he nodded. She joined him, the day flying by pleasantly. Rita left for two hours to meet friends for lunch while he wrote up his presentation in relief. She would have insisted he eat with her and he was down to his last few dollars. As they parted in the evening he collected his backpack and went to see his former employer hoping for a job but his position had been filled months before. It appeared he was fresh out of luck. No matter how many places he visited begging for work the answer he received was heartbreakingly familiar. No one was hiring. Defeated he spent his second night outdoors huddled in a doorway, sleep claiming him just after midnight.

The cold woke him at dawn. Head buried in his backpack he watched the world light up, determined to struggle through the rest of the term before admitting defeat. _You got 30 dollars left, Almeida. Use it carefully. Get a loaf of bread and eat that and it'll last quite a while, long enough for you to find a job._ Forcing himself up he returned to UIC and cleaned himself up in the same bathroom, heading to his architecture class as though nothing were amiss.

Rita's obvious love kept him going through the following two weeks as his job hunting proved fruitless and his money dwindled. Unable to face a third night outdoors he searched the grounds of the university in detail coming upon the gardener's shed which he managed to force open. It was luxurious compared to the outdoors offering him shelter from the snowstorm as he huddled on his backpack which he laid on the concrete floor. Marco laid his head against a wooden plank and slept soundly worn out from exposure to the elements and lack of food. It required all his will power to get moving before dawn to ensure he was not discovered, closing the door behind him. Yet again he cleaned himself in the handicapped bathroom where he undressed and poured water over himself in a vain attempt to get clean.

Under the circumstances it was not unusual for his normal optimism to evaporate as he spent each afternoon seeking employment unsuccessfully. He longed to cry as he huddled in the cold shed, scolding himself mercilessly. _Pull yourself together, Almeida. You were a soldier, dammit. At least you've got a roof over your head!_ As the days passed he grew immune to the bone chilling cold, falling asleep the moment he curled up on the planks.

It was Rita who inadvertently caused his downfall by passing him her flu. She coughed and sneezed beside him in the library, using an entire box of tissues, her nose red and swollen. 'You don't look well, querida,' he said gently, feeling her warm forehead. 'You should be home in bed.'

She laid her head against his chest, ear pressed to his heart. 'I wanted to see you,' she croaked.

A warm feeling washed over him as he stroked her damp hair. 'I know, sweetheart. I need to see you too, but right now you're sick. You're going home to bed.' Gently he closed her books and packed them in her bag, pulling her up by the arms. 'I'll walk you to your car.'

'I'm not that sick,' she protested, her pleas falling on deaf ears as he walked beside her.

'You got a fever, Rita. I want you to stay in bed tomorrow. Promise me you'll do that, hmm?' He pulled her to a stop and waited till she nodded reluctantly. 'And eat some fresh oranges or grapefruit, it always worked for me.'

She remained in his arms beside the car a few minutes longing to take him home with her. 'I hate grapefruit,' she admitted.

'Hah,' he snorted, pulling an ear gently. 'Did I forget to tell you we grow lots of it on our farm?' She squirmed in his arms, turning red. 'So now that you know it, you're going to get yourself one from your fruit bowl, peel it and eat it and think about me picking them all day. Okay?'

'Okay,' she sneezed, giving him a final kiss on the cheek. 'I love you, Marco.'

'I do too, sweetheart. Drive slowly.' The library seemed empty after she left. He completed an architecture assignment and laid his head on his arm falling asleep in the warmth. Lonelier than ever before he worked hard the following day, the only bright point a returned assignment which earned a 'B'. He stared at it numbly, the lack of pride bothering him. _You should feel pleased about this, Almeida. It's the best mark you ever got for something written in English without any help!_ He slid it inside his backpack with the rest of his work wishing he could show her his grade. She would be sure to make a big deal over it, insisting that he had now had proof he was able to cope with completing a degree in English.

He used a handful of coins to call her that evening, desperate to hear her voice. To his relief she answered, her voice hoarse. 'Rita.'

'Hey princess,' he said softly, his heart lifting at the sound of her voice. 'How are you feeling?'

'Pretty awful,' she said gloomily, blowing her nose.

He sighed in disappointment. 'I miss you,' he admitted, kicking himself a moment later. _What kind of idiot are you, Almeida? She'll come in sick tomorrow just to cheer you up. You gotta convince her you're fine._ 'Did you eat any grapefruit?' he questioned careful to keep his tone light.

'I did,' she told him, blowing her nose. 'I put tons of sugar on it and it was kinda edible that way. I did think about you picking them.' He heard a faint giggle and felt his own lips part in an answering smile. 'Did you really climb the trees for them?'

'Aha,' he agreed, longing to see her that very minute. 'Sweetheart, I'll let you get some sleep now. I got a 'B' for that essay I wrote in jail – the one you handed in.'

'Hey, that's great,' she cried warmly. 'You'll get a kiss for that tomorrow!'

'I will not,' he said sternly, startled at the idea. 'You're still sick, querida. You're staying in bed tomorrow.'

'Listen Marco, I'm feeling a lot better, and it's me studying to be a nurse not you, so at least I can tell when I feel…atishoo…when I feel better. And…'

'And that is not yet,' he interrupted firmly, his tone reminding her of the incident in the park. 'You'll stay in bed and rest, and get better quickly to get back to me. You could write your history essay up in the meantime, if you're bored.'

Rita, who had been about to complain of boredom shut her mouth in a hurry glaring at the phone. _He can read my mind!_ 'Okay,' she said, surprised herself by her meek voice. 'Call me again tomorrow.'

'You got it,' he agreed and hung up, returning to the icy shed. Whether it was the thought of her sick or the memories of her sneezing, or whatever else he didn't know, but the moment he curled up he sneezed violently, pressing his hand against his mouth at the last moment. _Dammit, Almeida, keep it down or they'll evict you from this shed!_ The sneeze was followed by a second and a third and he was forced to open his backpack to search for a handkerchief. _You're not getting sick, you're not! This is purely psychosomatic!_ By morning his firm reassurances that he was fine gave way to the grim reality of the situation. He was sick too, using handkerchief after handkerchief, his nose already sore. It took firm resolve to leave the shed.

He struggled through the following week, his cold worsening. He attended his lectures and tutorials sitting well away from the others longing for a hot cup of tea and someone to utter kind words to him. Rita discovered him six days later at his usual spot in the library, head lowered on his arm. 'Hey sweet,' she said gently, brushing his hair away for a kiss. 'Marco, you're hot!'

He forced his eyes open managing a grin. 'Hey.'

'You're sick too,' she cried in dismay. 'You look awful. You're thinner, your cheeks are sunken, your eyes are dull…'

'I never said I was handsome, querida,' he joked, wishing he could curl up in a warm bed and close his eyes.

'You know what I mean,' she cried, swatting his shoulder lightly. 'Come on, I'll take you up to your room. You need to get to bed.'

He stared at her in alarm, searching for a reason to keep her from learning the truth. 'Querida, you can't go up there. The third floor is strictly for men. I'll go there myself.'

She frowned, clearly dissatisfied. 'Who'll make you some tea?'

'I'll make it myself,' he lied, his head spinning.

'I tell you what. I'll buy you a cup now, before you go to bed,' she decided, packing his things away. 'Come, sweetheart.'

_Sweetheart._ A gentle wave washed over him as he ran the word through his mind. She took his hand, pulling him up, muttering under her breath about his high fever. 'I hoped you'd come in today,' he told her in answer to her question on why he had gone to the library so obviously unwell. _I got nowhere else to go, querida. Now I'll have to sneak back in and pick a different floor where you won't go._ Hands clasped together they left the library, skirting a man who gazed at Marco in disdain.

'Still here, convict? I'd have thought they would've deported you by now. Ah well, seems you found a girl to live off!'

Marco ignored him, too sick to think of a fitting retort, pulling Rita's hand gently. 'Ignore him, querida. He's just an asshole.'

'Isn't he your roommate?' she questioned, glaring at Pale Eyes.

'Yeah. It's okay, Rita, come on.'

'But he called you a convict. How can you bear sharing with him?'

'It's what I am, now,' he reminded her tiredly. 'Come on, sweetheart.' She followed him over to the cafeteria reluctantly, ordering him to sit while she bought two cups of tea and a bowl of soup. She set it before him, insisting he eat it as it was good for colds. Dipping his spoon he swallowed his first hot meal in days, reveling in the warmth. His cold prevented him from tasting any of it but he ate it thankfully.

'You should go to bed now,' she said, kissing him. 'Marco, take something for the fever. You got something, don't you?'

He nodded and left her, returning soon after to the library where he settled among some psychology books, safe in his anonymity. Sheer stubbornness kept him going another four days as he attended classes and rested in the library, fighting for each breath. He suspected he was sicker than he looked. Rita discovered him that evening as he leaned on a bookcase struggling to breathe, the book on pyramid design landing in a heap by his feet. Her cry of dismay woke him slightly. Groggily he blinked at her, allowing her to support his weight.

'What are you _doing_ here, Marco? Sweetheart, you're burning up. You need to see a doctor right away. I'll take you…'

'I'm fine, querida,' he said firmly, blinking to keep the world from swaying. 'I just came for a book. I'm going upstairs to bed now.'

She glared at him as he left the library, returning to collect her bag. _Dammit. Something's wrong, I know it. He doesn't look like he's taking medicine or getting enough food…Oh God._ She stopped, a hand on the glass door leading outside. _Doesn't he have a job anymore?_ The longer she thought about it the more sense it made to her. _He probably doesn't. He never seems to need to go anywhere these days…_Without giving the matter a second thought she hurried over to student housing and banged on his door, prepared to tell him what she thought of his keeping secrets from her. Instead of Marco the hated Pale Eyes met her.

'What do you want, sugar? That Mexican didn't leave anything here, no matter what he told you.'

'What do you mean?' she questioned, alarmed. 'Where is he?'

Pale Eyes studied her face, snorting aloud. 'Didn't he tell you?' Watching her closely he shook his head. 'He's dumber than I thought. These rooms aren't free, sugar. That convict can't afford to stay here any longer.'

'Where does he live now?' she gasped, fists clenched. The need to get Marco's new address prevented her from slamming it into his face.

Pale Eyes shrugged noncommittally. 'He's left no forwarding address. You can take his mail if you like. You'll probably find him hiding out at the library. Place seems to attract all kinds of trash nowadays.'

Rita drew a deep breath, glaring at him. 'You threw him out?' Seeing his nod, she shook her head. 'You know what, you're a bastard. A real asshole!'

'That's not me sugar, it's lover boy,' Pale Eyes remarked insolently. 'He must be real good to keep you interested, but once he disappears into the dump he belongs in you just come visit me…' Her slap caught him unprepared and he reeled backwards under the force of the blow.

'He's twice the man you'll ever be,' she told him, rushing back down the corridor and over to the library determined to question him. To her dismay the entrance was locked. She rattled it persistently, determined to be allowed inside as she saw a few people borrowing books within.

'We're closed,' a librarian snapped irritated. 'You'll have to come back tomorrow.'

Rita glared back at her, hurrying over to the exit where the librarian stopped her in gathering indignation. 'I already told you we're closed,' she repeated. 'You got a problem with that? I'll ban you from the library in a minute.'

'But I'm waiting for a friend,' she protested, cut off by the librarian.

'You can wait outside. They're all leaving now.'

_She's right. Whatever are you thinking about, Rita. Just hide someplace and watch where he goes. It can't be far._ She moved behind a tree, eyes glued to the door, rewarded by a sight of him stumbling out. Remaining concealed rather than rushing over to him required all her self control but she persevered, watching him walk down an unlit path and across a lawn. She tiptoed after him, her feet crunching the snow despite her best efforts to remain silent.

Too sick to hear anything or even think clearly he forced his way to the shed, collapsing in a heap at the door. Unable to summon the strength necessary to force the lock he remained where he lay, sinking into the beckoning darkness.


	38. A Place To Stay

'Marco,' she cried, rushing across the park to reach him no longer restrained by the need for stealth. 'Marco, what happened?' Receiving no answer she knelt beside him feeling his forehead which burned her hand, his pulse rapid and light. An overwhelming urge to cry overtook her which she pushed aside for later. Right now her best friend lay unconscious before her, depending on her to save his life. He failed to respond to her frantic whispers. Tough by nature, she took his arms, pulling him to his feet, struggling to wrap his arms round her shoulders. Her shoes sank into the snow as she pulled him over the park to her car. She was forced to lay him on the ground as she hunted for her keys, pulling him inside. He failed to regain consciousness as she strapped him in, allowing her tears out. Under the light of the car he looked terrible, face flushed and hollow, each breath an obvious struggle. She watched him in silence, wondering where to take him. He was obviously extremely sick and needed a warm bed and medicine. A sudden thought hit her and she started the car, driving rapidly to a block of apartments. Calling his name she unbuckled him, pulling him from the car and over to the elevator.

'Hey Miguel,' she began, hugging her brother as he opened the door to smile at her. 'You got to help me.'

'Ah sis,' he drawled, eyeing her in amusement. 'What is it this time? A lost kitten, an injured dog or a bird with a broken wing? This place got a strict rule of no pets under any circumstances…'

'Will you cut it out,' she snapped, pushing him aside. 'I got a friend…'

Miguel eyed her doubtfully. 'So where do I fit into this?' He was going to agree to whatever his younger sister decided, just as he always had, but he refused to give up his moment of questioning her.

'He needs someplace to stay, just for a coupla nights,' Rita told him. 'Please, Miguel.'

'Well now, that might be a problem. I got a friend coming who planned on using my spare room…'

'I'll go get him,' Rita interrupted, turning away. Intrigued her brother followed her into the hall, stopping himself in time before he tripped over the body of a young man at her feet. 'Will you help me get him inside?'

He did as she asked, carrying his uninvited guest over to the couch. 'He looks sick,' he remarked, eyeing him dubiously. 'Shouldn't you rather take him to a hospital?'

'I don't think he can afford that,' she replied, pulling off his jacket. 'I'll call him a doctor here and get the medicines he prescribes, but he should have a bath first. Help me undress him.'

'Rita,' he began, giving up in defeat. 'Okay. I'll do it. You start the bath.'

Together they dragged Marco over to the bathroom and lowered him into the bath, worried he failed to show any response to the water. They rubbed soap liberally over him and rinsed him off, Rita leaving to spread clean sheets and towels on the guest rooms' bed. 'I'm done now, you can bring him,' she called and her brother struggled under his weight, depositing him on the bed. They rubbed him dry, Rita giving way to tears at the sight of his prominent ribcage.

'Hey, it's okay,' Miguel told her kindly, wondering who his visitor could be. It was obvious to him his starved looking guest meant a lot to his sister who wept openly in his arms. 'Shh, Rita, it's okay. Help me get him into bed. Has he got any pajamas?'

His question appeared to give her something to focus on. 'I'll get him something,' she sniffed, returning moments later with a warm cotton pair which he instantly recognized as his own. 'Don't even say it,' she warned as he opened his mouth to protest. 'He needs something.' He decided to allow it to go for the moment, relived she no longer wept. 'Bring me a thermometer, would you.'

They stared at the reading in silent disbelief, a twinge of worry rushing through Miguel. 'Rita, I'm calling a doctor. He needs one,' he decided, not wishing to have his unnamed guest die in his care. 'Why don't you get him some cold cloths or something in the meantime?' Frowning, he watched her sit beside him, brushing back his damp hair to kiss his forehead. 'You gonna tell me about it?' he asked.

'About what?' she asked, filled with concern for Marco.

'About you and Hobo here. I take it mom doesn't know about him.'

'Don't be an idiot,' she snapped. 'There's nothing to tell. I'm going to marry him.'

Miguel's eyes widened as he settled on an armchair. 'I got time. You're gonna tell me all about it, sis, or I'll call mom.'

Her tale was finished by the time the doctor arrived, bag in hand. They undressed Marco, hovering over the doctor anxiously until he ordered them from the room. Rita paced the living room desperately worried while Miguel settled back in his favorite armchair watching her. 'He'll be okay, sis,' he said finally feeling the need to comfort her despite lacking reassurance of his statement.

She sniffed, turning to him for protection the way she always had. 'You sure about that? He looks bad.'

'Of course I'm sure. It's the twentieth century, isn't it? People don't just die.'

The return of the doctor interrupted them. Grave eyes settled on Miguel who drew a deep breath. By the looks on the man's face he was about to hear bad news, and that meant he would be tied up with his sister the next few days offering what comfort he could. 'It's bad, right?'

'It's a wonder he's still with us,' the doctor began, eyeing Rita speculatively. 'Sit down, Rita. Get her some water,' he ordered Miguel, familiar with them since their childhood. He jumped to obey, handing her a glass which the doctor forced her to take. 'Feeling better?' He waited a few seconds till a little color returned to her cheeks. 'Okay, to your friend. He has pneumonia in both lungs, which appear to be filled up. He's unlikely to survive the night without treatment.'

The world span round her as she gasped in shock, shaking her head wildly. 'No. Miguel, please…'

'Calm down, sis.' Miguel slipped an arm round her, instinctively shielding her from the uglier side of life. 'We'll get him to a hospital.'

'He hasn't got any money,' she said. 'I'll pay…'

'Mom monitors your account,' he reminded her grimly. 'Looks like I'm paying. How long will he need to stay there?'

'At least five days,' the doctor told them. 'I'd take him right away, Miguel. And take her home,' he added, eyeing Rita in concern.

Miguel rolled his eyes as he collected his keys. So far his sister's need to collect all manner of injured animals had cost him nothing but sound hidings when his mother inevitably discovered their presence. Her guest was about to hit him in the pocket, and he had a sneaking suspicion money wasn't all he would be asked to donate. He held the unconscious figure while Rita slipped his coat over his pajamas and together they struggled down the stairs and into the garage.

Processing their forms appeared to take forever to Rita who watched anxiously as Marco lay on a bed, his breathing quieter. Eventually they were done and a doctor arrived, hooked him to an oxygen tank and placed an IV of antibiotics in his arm. They were shooed from the room as the fluid was drained from his lungs. Through the entire procedure he lay unmoving, eyes drawn tight, oblivious to her anxious face peering through the glass window.

She stretched the truth that night when she told the hospital staff she was his fiancée, but they believed her and allowed her to spend the night by his side in a comfortable armchair. A nurse brought her a blanket and she wrapped it round herself, curling her legs comfortably and fell asleep beside him determined never to allow him out of her sight again.

Marco came round two days later, his face slightly less drawn. Blinking in the brightness he took in his surroundings, the white walls and vinyl floor, the tubes attached to his left arm and the presence of Rita, who watched him with bated breath. 'Hey, sweetheart.'

He grinned at her, too weak to raise his head more than a few inches. 'Hey. What is this place? It's a hospital, right?'

She nodded reassuringly. 'Yeah. You had pneumonia. You're almost well enough to leave, though.'

_Pneumonia._ He stared at her soberly, no longer surprised he had felt so awful._ Seems you were not a wimp after all, Almeida. There was a reason you couldn't think straight. And now you're in a hospital, almost ready to go. Go where? You still got no place._ His eyes examined the room in more detail, noting that he was alone. _Oh boy – this looks like an expensive place. Someone paid for your stay – Rita of course. You'll be paying her back for the rest of your life!_ 'How long was I here?' he asked, hating the weakness in his voice.

'Two days. You'll have to stay another three, but the worst is over.'

He shifted his free arm restlessly. 'Rita, be honest, okay?' She nodded, avoiding his gaze. 'How much is this costing?'

Her face flushed. 'You don't need to worry about that, Marco. Just get better,' she said.

'I _do_ need to worry about it, querida. I won't be able to repay you right now…' He attempted to sit, the world spinning alarmingly round him.

Strong hands pushed him back. 'You're staying right here, Marco. Try leaving and I'll get security to chain you to that bed! I'm not kidding! You can't breathe alone yet. And don't worry about the money, it's a gift.'

'It's a gift I can't accept,' he insisted, heatedly. 'I said I wouldn't cost you anything and I meant it. It's not honest.. .'

'And you know so much about honesty!' she snapped, thoroughly riled up. 'I thought we were friends, Marco! I got you into a whole lot of trouble and you stuck by me. You lost your job and room because of me and you didn't let me know. I could've helped you.'

Avoiding her eyes he examined his blanket in silence, uncertain of his own illogic. 'Friendship goes both ways,' she continued, leaning over him and forcing him to acknowledge her presence. 'If you want my friendship, you gotta stop acting like a caveman and talk to me, tell me how I can help you. This is _my_ country, after all.'

_She's right, Almeida. She knows people here, she could have helped you find a job…_He moved his free hand slowly, squeezing hers. 'Sorry, sweetheart. I guess I didn't see things that way. I didn't want to cause you any bother.'

'You'll never cause me bother,' she insisted, kissing him on the forehead to indicate he was forgiven. 'It's my fault that you're this sick. I'm sorry.' He wrapped his arm round her, shaking his head. 'Don't argue,' she continued before he had a chance to open his mouth. 'It is my fault. I found you a place to stay though, once you're well enough to leave.'

Marco chewed his lower lip in concentration. Silently he raised his eyes, questioning her.

'My brother's apartment. He's got a spare room so you won't be in the way,' she explained in a rush.

The pillow supported his head as he considered his limited options of either accepting their hospitality or returning home. 'I can't…'

'You must,' she interrupted, voice filled with conviction. 'I'm not gonna lose you, Marco. Miguel doesn't mind.'

_Whether he minds or not appears irrelevant, Almeida._ _She's decided you're moving in with him!_

'Your stuff's already there. I unpacked your backpack,' she explained, watching amused as he squeezed his eyes shut in embarrassment. 'You need lots of new clothes!'

'Once I can afford some more, you can help pick them out,' he promised. 'Were those drawers empty, querida?'

Rita shook her head nonchalantly. 'No, Miguel had some stuff in them. I put them on his bed,' she explained unconcerned. 'He'll find another place to store them, don't you worry.'

_He'll hate you before you arrive!_ 'Rita, I can only stay till I find a job, then I'll find someplace…'

'You'll stay with Miguel,' she insisted. 'He's a nice guy, you'll get along well. And I can come see you all the time.' Mischievous eyes searched his own and he felt the beginnings of a smile on his lips.

'Sounds too good to pass.'

The three days he was forced to remain hospitalized passed pleasantly. Relieved of the burden of homelessness and fed regularly he was free to study his course notes in the mornings, eyes straying to the door every time he heard footsteps down the corridor, knowing she would visit. The afternoons, once rest period was over passed rapidly, Rita sitting by his side recounting amusing details of their lecturers and their acquaintances. He told her about his own family, heart aching despite her friendship. On the final day of his stay he wrote his parents a lengthy letter explaining the events of the previous few weeks in detail and apologizing for the undoubted shame his confession would cause them.

'It's not as easy to get by as I figured it would be,' he wrote, chewing the pencil. 'I guess I learned a lot since my arrival. Don't worry about me; it seems things have settled down. I'd be really happy if I didn't miss you all so much.' Blinking rapidly he slipped the letter into an envelope, sealing it before he could change his mind. _Just wait till you get their reply, Almeida!_

Dressed in the clothes she brought him, all of which were new, he awaited her arrival. His nurse peered in on him occasionally reminding him to wait in the chair and he nodded, assuring her he was aware he required rest. Heart beating a little faster he followed her along the corridor, down the elevator and out to her car, trying his utmost to appear calm.

'You're nervous, right?' she questioned, gifted with the apparent ability to read his mind.

'A little,' he admitted. 'It's not real nice, being dependent.' The admission was spoken quietly, their deep friendship the only reason he expressed it at all. She appeared to understand.

'We'll find you a job, sweetheart.' Her arms wrapped round him, she pulled him close to her, sliding her lips over his. He responded passionately, her presence stirring a strange longing from deep within himself. At that moment he had no thought of anything but remaining wrapped in her arms. The world stood still.

Marco followed her out of the elevator apprehensively; aware he would be relying on the charity of her brother. It was a position he hated finding himself in, hated it with every fiber of his being. Deeply humiliated he stood beside her unable to recall the face of his benefactor.

A medium sized man answered the door, grinning lazily at Rita. 'Hi, sis.' She followed him into the apartment, dragging the reluctant Marco by the arm.

'Miguel, this is Marco,' she said, announcing his name with the honor reserved for visiting diplomats. 'Marco, my brother.'

'Hi,' Miguel told him, nodding his head at the couch. 'Sit down. You don't remember being here, do you?'

Marco shook his head, filled with embarrassment. 'No,' he admitted softly. 'Look, I don't even know how to thank you. I'll repay you for everything as soon as I can.'

Miguel gazed at him amused, reading the sincerity in his eyes. _He actually means it. That's a first, anyway, someone offering to repay a loan! Not that I could accept it, of course, or Rita would kill me. _He shrugged, wishing to avoid embarrassing his guest. 'There's no hurry. Let me show you round,' he suggested, unable to think of anything further to add momentarily, his eye on his sister watching Marco with a hitherto unseen warmth in her face. 'That's the kitchen,' he began, waving his hand at an impeccably neat room. 'It's clean because I usually eat out. You're welcome to cook, but you gotta clean up after yourself.'

_Normally eat out. He needs a wife desperately or he'll get sick for sure. All that take-out is definitely not healthy. _He nodded firmly, promising to clean up everything.

'Take it easy,' Miguel drawled, amused. 'Look, that's the living room; we'll have to share it. I watch baseball quite a bit…'

_The cubs, most likely!_

'And there's the bathroom.' He stood aside revealing the most luxurious bathroom he had ever seen. Pale blue tiles lined the room on both floor and walls and the bath was the lightest shade of apricot.

Marco gasped softly enthralled by such beauty, tentatively entering the room. His eye fell on an object sunk into the floor and he gazed at it in wonder. He had read about these items before but never actually seen one. 'Is that a spa?' he inquired, feeling foolish.

'Sure,' Miguel said forcing his chuckle aside. 'It works like a bath – you fill it with hot water and it bubbles. You gotta get a beer and place it right here,' he indicated a spot conveniently fashioned for bottles, 'and relax.'

Marco's eyes widened as he struggled to connect the beer with the working of the spa. Mortified, he watched Rita and Miguel shake with laughter, before Rita slipped her arm about his. 'Don't pay him any attention, Marco. He's decadent, that's all! Come see your room.' She led the way and he followed, face burning. Two large, airy bedrooms completed the apartment. She opened the smaller one and motioned him in.

A single bed stood beside the wall, a blue quilt cover on it with a matching pillowcase. A similar blue rug adorned a parquet floor. A wardrobe stood on the opposite end of the room, so large he could have placed all his belongings inside together with the brother he had gone to school with and still have spare room. A bookcase stood opposite piled with books. Marco moved forward to examine their titles.

'Feel free to read them,' Miguel told him generously. 'Just replace them in the same position you got them from. I'm real sick of tidying that case.'

'You never tidy it, Miguel. I do,' his sister protested. 'I like that job.'

'That's coz you always help yourself to my newest books,' he grumbled fondly.

Rita grinned back, the sharp denial Marco had expected failing to come. Instead she shrugged. 'What are brothers for?'

They ate a pizza together in the kitchen, the brother and sister teasing each other, leaving him time to gather his thoughts. _They're nice people, Almeida. If only you could have met them under different circumstances…_


	39. Catalina's Discovery

The most difficult year of his life ended rapidly, each day deepening his love for Rita. They spent every spare moment together during the first week after he moved into Miguel's apartment, his friend doing her best to ease him into his new home. He understood her intentions and was grateful as he was plagued by shyness as far as Miguel was concerned. Accepting charity was something he had never faced before and it went against every fiber of his being. No matter how often he tidied the apartment or cooked a tolerable dinner for the pair of them he was unable to dispel feelings of intense humiliation. His job search proved fruitless despite the hours he devoted to it.

It was Miguel who found him a position at Rita's insistence. 'He needs a job,' she explained, sitting beside him in Church. 'He can't continue this way.'

'Why not? I'm not asking him for anything,' Miguel whispered back, an eye on his parents who were sure to scold him for whispering.

'That's not the point. He's got his own pride. He'll leave if he can't find work,' she whispered back.

'You know, that might be the best thing,' Miguel began softly. 'He'd do better with his family. He knows how to run a farm…..Ouch,' he gasped as Rita pinched his arm. 'What did I do to deserve that? I only suggested Hobo…'

'Don't you dare insult him! He's got a name,' she hissed, annoyed. 'And just because he knows how to farm doesn't mean he shouldn't do something else.'

'So let him do something else,' Miguel muttered, rubbing his arm.

'He wants to be an architect. He can draw real well. Find him a job drawing,' she decided, eyes sparkling as she considered her suggestion. 'It would be so much better than washing dishes!'

'Rita, with the best of intentions I can't get him a position as an architect right now. He hasn't even completed his first year!' Miguel protested. But he had done the next best thing to please his sister, visiting a friend of his who worked as an architect.

'I got Hobo a job,' he told his sister proudly, holding the phone a little further from his ear. 'Yeah, I know he's got a name! Do you want to hear about it or not?'

Rita accompanied Marco to his interview the next morning to offer him moral support. She waited with him in the car while he took a few deep breaths and threw him a reassuring look, praying he would be successful. Without employment he was bound to flee sooner or later and she was going to make certain that failed to occur. She needed him beside her. No one in her entire life made her as happy to be alive as Marco, who cheered her with a single smile. Her fingers gave his hand a final squeeze as he climbed out of the car. 'Take your time – you'll do great,' she assured him, settling more comfortably to listen to the radio.

Fingers damp with perspiration he stepped from the elevator, half wishing he could leap back inside and flee the official looking secretary who raised her head from her typewriter to regard him inquisitively.

'Good morning. I'm here to see Mr. Adams,' he told the secretary while he attempted to force himself to stop fidgeting.

She looked through the schedule and nodded. 'I got a Marco Almeida down for 10:30. Would you like to take a seat?'

He nodded. 'Thanks.' Mr. Adams turned out to be a prematurely balding man with glasses and a somewhat stressed demeanor who readily assigned Marco several hours' worth of plans to trace at home. He was given a pile of drawings which required completion within the week and was promised further work should his work appear satisfactory. Unable to believe his fortune he thanked him and left the office, Rita throwing the entire pile onto the back seat of her Impala.

'Let's go celebrate! I'll buy you a coffee this time.'

'I,' he began, giving up in despair as she raised her voice to speak over him.

'You can treat me once you get paid for your work. I'm going to drop right here if I don't get a huge slice of cream cake this instant, and the best cream cake in the entire state is right over there!' She pointed across the street to a café and set off immediately, pulling him behind her. He hastened after her, alarmed at the way she threaded her way through the heavy traffic.

'Don't you ever cross at the lights?' he inquired sternly, pulling her onto the island in relief.

'You expect me to walk all that way there and back when I need to go directly across?' she inquired lazily. 'Come on Marco, we can make it now if we run.'

He raced after her, dragging her onto the sidewalk seconds before a truck rushed past. 'Didn't your parents ever teach you not to run across roads?' he panted.

'Yeah, right!' was his only reply as she pushed the door of the café open. Drawn by an irresistible smell of fresh coffee he followed her in, eyeing a selection of cheese cakes in delight.

'You choose.'

Mouth watering he eyed them in detail, pointing to a raspberry flavored one. 'That one. It's got real fruit.' Rita paid and they settled beside the window. He slipped his arm round her while they waited for their coffees, reveling in the feel of her hair tickling his cheek.

'Did anyone ever tell you how cute you look when you're scared?' she teased, brushing an eyelash from his nose. 'Your eyes just open so wide…' She fluttered her eyes at him feigning panic. 'When that truck started moving…'

'I meant to discuss that with you, Rita. You ever risk your life to save two minutes again, I'm going home! I refuse to spend the rest of my life waiting to hear my best friend got killed crossing some street. I need to know you're safe, querida. I can't concentrate on anything else if I'm not sure of that.'

'Captain Caveman must have been based on you,' she retorted, slipping an arm about his neck. 'You can't waste your life waiting round for things to happen.'

'And you shouldn't be in such a terrible hurry either. You've got,' he drew her closer for a kiss, '24 hours in the day,' he kissed her again, 'just like everyone else. What's this awful rush everyone round here lives in? You gotta slow down and really enjoy _this_ minute, not worry about the next all the time! And anyway, you're too beautiful to be rushing like that. You need to sit down and,' he drew her towards him again, kissing her warmly.

'And?' she teased.

'Hi Rita.'

They jumped violently, disentangling themselves in a hurry. 'Hi Marta,' Rita said, with what he recognized as her fake smile plastered on her face. 'I didn't see you.'

'I was in the bathroom,' the girl explained eyeing Marco with interest. 'Aren't you going to introduce me to your friend?'

Rita nodded unwillingly. 'Sure I am. He's Marco Almeida. Marco, this is Marta Hernandez. I know her from Church. Her mom owns a drugstore downtown.'

'Nice to meet you Marco,' she said, eyeing them both speculatively. 'I guess I'll be seeing you guys.' With that she left and Rita banged her head against the table, groaning.

'That's bad, right?' he inquired.

'Bad? It's terrible! That bitch got a mouth the size of Mount Everest! By tonight all of Chicago will know we're together, by tomorrow it'll be all over the country, and by Monday I guarantee you the whole world will know about us! She's probably on the phone as we speak.'

He rubbed his face uncertainly. 'I'm sorry, querida. I'll back off…'

'You'll do no such thing,' she retorted indignantly. 'I'll just tell mama I love you. It's time she knew anyway! I got a right to my own friends!'

'You'd better take Miguel,' he advised, sipping his coffee without tasting it. 'Do you want me to come and introduce myself?'

She shook her head. 'Not yet. I have to deal with this my own way first. She's my mother, I know her. You'll get invited the moment she's calmed down. Just don't expect that to be anytime soon,' she concluded glumly.

* * *

Catalina Torres greeted her daughter as she slid noiselessly into the house, emerging from the study. Rita's face paled as she felt herself cornered. 'Buenas tardes, Mama,' she said, hanging her coat on the hook.

'We need to talk, Margarita!' her mother said without further preamble, her eyes fixed unblinking on her. 'Would you follow me?'

_Do I have a choice?_ Rita sighed silently as she followed her mother into her father's domain, relieved he was not present. Her mother was bound to be indignant but she had no idea what her father's reaction would be. He lived in the happy delusion that she was but a young girl and she doubted he would be impressed to learn otherwise. Saying a silent prayer she settled on the couch, arms folded.

'Who is Marco?' Catalina began, launching into her accustomed role of interrogator.

'He's a friend,' Rita replied, her heart pounding.

'A friend! A rather close friend, if what I heard bears any semblance to the truth! I'm sad; indeed I'm mortified that I have to hear about your 'friend' from Tia Elena. I would have thought we had a bond between us.' She glared at her daughter.

_A bond, right! She's got me on a chain and she's holding the end! And Tia Elena! She's one of the last to hear things – that means it's all over Chicago already! Quit acting like a guilty kid, Rita. You haven't done anything wrong. Tell that to her._ 'Mom, he studies architecture at UIC. He's awfully smart and he's a real decent person…'

'Why was I not told about him before?' she interrupted furiously. 'And what does his family do? I don't know any Marcos at UIC!'

Rita squeezed her fingers together until they turned white. 'You don't know his family, Mama.'

Catalina's eyes flickered. 'I am acquainted with everyone who counts in this city. What is his surname?'

'They don't live in Chicago,' she replied evasively, her eye on the glass cabinets containing her father's coin collection. 'I need to write something up for tomorrow, I'm presenting it first thing in the morning. I really should get on with it.'

'So how come you had time for a coffee with this Marco?' Catalina asked belligerently. 'And if he's not from here, then where is he from?'

_Oh God, here it comes._ 'He speaks Spanish too…'

'Where is he from?' Catalina demanded, her voice several decibels louder. Bell, asleep on the rug before the fire moved in a hurry, leaping through the open door.

'He's from Mexico.'

'Mexico!' Catalina hissed, her face turning pale. 'He's from Mexico?'

'He's from Spain, just like we are,' she protested, aware in advance it was futile.

'Via Mexico! There's a little difference there! How much Indian blood does he have?'

'Virtually none. I can't see any,' Rita assured her. 'He _looks_ Spanish.'

'What he looks like and what he really is are two different things,' Catalina snapped. 'So what kind of people are they?'

_Why don't you ask what you really want to know, Mama? How rich are they?_ 'They got land in Chihuahua.'

Catalina let out a strangled cry of distress. 'They're peasants! Ignorant illiterate dirty peasants! Are you mad, my daughter? These types of people are to be avoided at all cost.'

'Marco's neither dirty nor illiterate,' Rita snapped, her eyes flashing as her formidable temper was aroused. 'As for ignorant, he won a scholarship to come here, so that answers that. And if you recall, the Torres family were Mexican also.'

The breath caught in Catalina's throat. 'By an unfortunate accident, yes. But they're all Spanish,' she hissed. 'And every one of us left our mark…'

'Sí, Mama. Luis Torres left us all a great example about making our mark,' Rita replied, her voice a little short of a yell. 'He was hanged three months after Texas joined the States! We got no reason to look down on others…'

'Now you listen to me very carefully, Margarita, because I'll only tell you this once,' Catalina hissed, her face inches from her daughter's. 'You're not to see this mongrel again, do you hear me! Your father and I are spending a tremendous amount of money on your education - we expect you to find a suitable husband not some semiliterate village idiot!'

'You're spending a lot on my education?' Rita hissed, rising from the couch and glaring defiantly at her mother. 'That's odd. You never worked a single day in your life!'

'Get upstairs,' Catalina yelled at the top of her voice. 'This is one family - it makes no difference who is earning the money. Go anywhere near this flea ridden Mexican again and I'll throw you out on the street! That's a promise,' she yelled after Rita who rushed upstairs weeping. 'And don't you dare slam doors,' she yelled louder. 'Your father hears about this boy, he'll shoot him! That's no idle threat, either. He killed hundreds of people in Spain during the Civil War. One more, one less…'

Rita sank onto her bed in a flood of tears, terrified at the final threat.

* * *

Marco glanced up as the shadow fell over his tracing, smiling at Miguel. 'Hey, I got to thank you. Your friend gave me a job. Muchas gracias.'

Miguel shrugged, amused to see the pile of architectural designs covering his dining room table, the standing lamp drawn right over to offer optimum light. 'You're welcome,' he replied. 'You sure look busy.'

Marco nodded. 'Sí, I got enough work for hours. Better still, I am learning as I trace them. You see.' He pulled a completed copy out from the pile and pointed to what appeared to all intents and purposes an insignificant line. 'We hadn't yet covered stairwells,' he explained pointing it out with his pencil. 'I stopped to read about it so I'm a little behind.' His eyes sparkled as he spoke and Miguel nodded in amusement.

'You really like this kinda thing?'

'Aha. I can't wait till we get to design a second floor. Right now we're limited to single storey structures,' he sighed, sticking his pencil behind his ear.

'You'll get there,' Miguel assured him, throwing his jacket onto the couch. 'Was Rita pleased?'

Marco's face clouded suddenly and he raised nervous eyes to meet his. Miguel threw him an inquisitive glance and sat on the couch. 'Spit it out. What happened? You two have a fight?' he inquired causally.

Marco rose, replaced the pencil and leaned against the wall, arms folded across his chest. 'We met someone who knew Rita.'

'Tell me it was some Anglo,' Miguel begged, groaning softly as Marco shook his head. 'Oh boy. Looks like the shit's hit the fan,' he remarked.

Marco's mouth fell open at the comment, the visualization of which struck him as so hilarious he was unable to resist a burst of laughter.

Miguel's face betrayed no trace of hilarity. 'It might sound amusing, but I can assure you no one will be laughing by tomorrow,' he predicted. 'My mother expects a lot from Rita.'

Marco's eyes dropped to examine his socks. 'We haven't done anything wrong,' he said softly.

'Relax, I know that. You wouldn't be staying here if I even suspected such a thing! Fact is, she's gonna start watching Rita real carefully for a while. Don't expect to see much of her.'

A pained look crossed Marco's face as he averted his eyes. _Not see much of her!_ He blinked hurriedly at the thought of his friend stuck in her mansion and himself alone in the library. The future appeared bleak, darker than during his imprisonment. Without a word he returned to the dining room table, pulling the incomplete plan towards himself.

* * *

A hand grabbed his coat as he waited for the lecture theatre to open the following morning. He turned, his eyes lighting up at the sight of Rita who placed a finger urgently over her lips. 'Come with me. We need to talk.'

Casting a quick glance at the locked door he nodded and followed her through the grounds, joining her under a weeping willow. Relatively concealed, Rita indulged her desire to kiss him to which he responded wholeheartedly. 'What happened last night, querida? Did your mother hear about us?'

Rita nodded sadly. 'She heard. Marco, lemme ask you something. Were you serious when you said you'll marry me after we graduate?'

His eyes met hers noting the uncertainty. 'Sí, of course I meant it. If you still want me, that is.' _Why?_

'Do you love me enough to play hide and seek for a while?' she pressed him.

Anxious eyes searched his face as he allowed his gaze to examine the grey sky. 'Rita, your family obviously expects a lot from you. According to what I understood from Miguel, that doesn't mean they expect you to have a career, it means they expect you to find a rich husband. Real rich. I'm not that guy. You are asking me to creep around like a rat in a vegetable cellar because I lack your kinda money – well I won't. I am a person too.'

Tears filled her eyes at his words which she wiped indignantly with the sleeve of her coat. 'You all enjoy making my life terrible,' she snapped. 'You and my mom. What am I supposed to do, Marco Almeida? You're not ready to marry me yet. You're asking for me to get thrown out of my house, well, where would I go? You can be sure they wouldn't let Miguel take me in. You know what, you keep your pride and complete your degree and talk proudly to whoever wants to know you! I hate you!'

'Querida,' he called anxiously as she walked away abruptly, tears pouring through her fingers. 'Come back.' A look of alarm crossed his face as she ignored his words. 'Come back, I said,' he yelled, racing after her. He caught up with her within seconds and grabbed her arm spinning her round to face him. 'Hey, I'm sorry. Shh,' he said gently, wiping her tears with his fingers. 'Don't cry Rita. You want me to act like a hidden rat, I will! I love you.' _Just please don't walk away from me again._

Rita's body was racked with sobs as leaned against him. Gently he guided her back under the tree. 'Shh,' he repeated, slipping his arm round her. 'I'll play hide and seek as long as you like. I'll hide from everybody and watch you from a distance and sometimes you can smile at me.'

She shook her head vigorously. 'It's not what I had in mind. I'll see you just as usual, Marco, only it's gotta be in a different spot everyday. I can't risk anyone else seeing me. My father will shoot you!'

The breath caught in his throat as he regarded her grave expression. 'Gee Rita, you're not making it sound awfully appealing,' he protested. 'Are you sure about that? He'd shoot me because I have no money?'

Rita nodded. 'Oh yes. He'd shoot you without a moment's hesitation, but not only because you haven't got money. Right now he'd shoot pretty much anyone who was interested in me.'

_They're both crazy! You better watch out, Almeida! This might not end well._ Ignoring the warning his brain screamed at him he looked at her, wiping the last of the tears from her face, giving in to his heart. 'I'll be careful. Come here.' She wrapped herself about him and he swung her into his arms relishing the close proximity. _It'll end the way it'll end. There's no way you're leaving her, Almeida!_


	40. The Holiday

Marco pushed the door open and stepped inside, laying his backpack on the ground. A delicious smell hung in the air and he swallowed, licking his lips in anticipation of the taste. He paused a moment longer listening for sounds that might indicate where his family was. Footsteps moved about the kitchen and he tiptoed across the room, slipping his arms round his mother from behind. She jumped in fright, turning to glare and hug him simultaneously.

'What are you doing here, m'ijo? We were only expecting you later in the week.'

'My exam was rescheduled,' he explained, hugging her tightly. 'I left the moment I finished the final paper.' _You managed to jump on the train as it was pulling out of the station…_ 'I needed to get home.'

His mother appeared to understand. 'Why didn't you call us? Papa could have picked you up from the bus stop?' she chided. 'You would've walked for hours, Marco.'

He nodded. 'Papa's real busy at this time of year. I didn't mean to disturb him. And I felt like walking.' _You needed the walk, Almeida, to sort a whole lot of things out, and to make sure you're really truly home._

Again she understood him without the need for further elaboration. 'Now that you are home, muchacho, would you run outside and find Papa. Tell him dinner will be ready soon and he should come in.'

He nodded, hugging her one final time before he walked through the garden and into the farm. A field of golden corn stood ready for reaping as he walked through the nearest row. His shoulders straightened as the sun shone on his back and his shoes sank into the mud. Marco laughed aloud, slipping them off. He pushed his socks into them and rolled his new jeans up, stepping deep into a patch of irrigated mud. Warm soil wrapped around each individual toe, squelching pleasantly as he reached the end and stepped into the vineyard. His father worked nearby cutting bunches of grapes and laying them in a cardboard box. 'Dinner's ready, papa,' he said, eyes sparkling.

His father jumped, giving a shout of joy. 'Marco, you're back. Come here, let me see you.' He reached for his youngest son and pressed him tight, strong arms encircling him as though reluctant to relinquish him. 'Where are your shoes?' he inquired exasperated as his eyes searched him from head to toe.

Marco grinned, shrugging. 'I left them near the house.'

'You'll step in a bee, m'ijo,' his father warned, just as he had countless times before. 'Remember how it hurts.'

'Sí,' he replied, nodding grimly. His fingers reached towards the nearest bunch of grapes and he popped a piece into his mouth, sucking the juice from it. 'They're good this year.'

'There are a lot of them,' his father told him. 'They need to be cut tomorrow.'

'We'll get it done,' Marco assured him, lifting the heavier box. They trudged over to the house in friendly silence, leaving the grapes in the cellar. Marco poured a bucket of water over his feet and wiped them in the mat before he entered the house, enjoying the feel of the cool tiles.

'Oh,' his mother cried, clapping her hands in dismay. 'You've only been home half an hour and you're already dirty, m'jio. Get upstairs and have a shower. Such a shame, you looked so smart when you arrived.'

'It didn't feel right,' he explained, earning himself a tap on the leg. 'Ouch, mama, that hurt!'

'Hurry up,' she ordered, nodding at the table. 'Dinner will get cold.'

Marco took the stairs two at a time as he flew into the bathroom, stripped and stood under a warm shower washing the dirt off the long train journey. Thoughts of the meal awaiting him caused him to leave the shower within minutes and he crossed the hall dripping wet, picked a towel from the cupboard, rubbed himself dry and selected a handful of ancient clothes which he pulled on in relief.

Dinner passed pleasantly as he related certain adventures, concentrating on the train journeys and a brief description of the university. After dinner he helped his mother clean the dishes before she kissed him, repeated her delight at seeing him again and went to bed, reminding him they would begin work at dawn. He stepped outside, knowing in advance he'd find his father sitting on the bench smoking his pipe. Marco settled on the floor, his back against an arch and stared at the familiar scene bathed in moonlight.

'I'm listening, m'ijo,' his father said softly. 'What is she like?'

Marco turned crimson, running his fingers over a cracked tile. 'She's got long brown hair and the brightest eyes you've ever seen,' he explained.

'Aha. And what are her parents like?'

He shrugged, uncertain how to describe them. 'They always go to church on Sunday,' he began.

His father stirred, tapping his pipe against the bench. 'Of course they do! What are they like as people? What do they do?'

'The father has shares in some companies. He lives from that. The mother stays home,' he finished.

'And what do they think of you?' his father pressed, ever perceptive.

Marco squirmed. _Not a great deal, to put it mildly._ 'Ah, they never met me,' he admitted, not daring to look at his father.

The pipe tapped the bench a great deal harder. 'Marco! Are you telling me you've been seeing their daughter for an entire year and failed to visit them! What kind of behavior is that?' He remained silent, eyes fixed on the moon. 'Do they even know you're seeing her?' his father pressed a little quieter, sensing something.

His son shrugged. 'I don't know.'

'Marco, I need the truth. One year in a city cannot have changed the fundamental values we instilled. Just what happened with that family?'

Again the silence stretched as his father grew increasingly uncomfortable. 'Come here,' he ordered and Marco stood before him chewing his lip as he had on countless occasions before receiving a ticking off for inappropriate behavior. 'They don't like you, do they?'

He shook his head silently, eyes on the floor.

His father sighed and laid the pipe on the bench, leaving him alone for a moment. A minute later he emerged, laying two glasses and a bottle beside the pipe. Marco's eyes widened at the sight. _An entire bottle of tequila! He's expecting this conversation to last till dawn! _'Is that for me?' he asked, taking a glass.

'Sí. You look like you could use it.'

He sipped it slowly, the liquid burning his throat. A sudden memory came to him and he pressed a hand over his mouth, failing to hide a grin.

'What was it, m'ijo?' his father pressed.

'I just remembered you weren't so generous with the tequila 9 years ago,' he said, beginning to laugh. 'Every time I drink some I remember the hiding you gave Tomas and me right out here.'

'M'ijo, what did you expect? You two sneaked out of the house and stole a bottle and sat here drinking it! You only got what you deserved.'

'I know that, Papa, just, here's the funny part. I didn't even like it…I only drank a bit to stop Tomas calling me a baby!'

They laughed together, a little of the pain leaving Marco. A deep peace crept over him that he had missed since he left the place and he settled on the floor, laying his head against his father's knee. Warm fingers stroked his head and he squeezed his eyes shut in a hurry. 'Hey, it's okay now. You're home. They hurt you real bad, in the north.'

Marco shook his head. 'Most of them were fine. Some of them were real kind.'

'They put you in jail. One of my sons in a jail!'

He squirmed. 'I'm so sorry, Papa.'

'I'm not mad at you, Marco, I'm mad at them. How dare they do it? You're the best person I know. You're sweet, well-mannered, kind and helpful. And they hurt you!' A warm tear moistened his finger and he stared at it startled. 'What did they do to you, muchacho? I want to know all of it, like it happened.'

Sipping his drink he explained the events, interrupting his narrative with frequent descriptions of Rita which his father listened to appreciatively. 'Sounds like she's quite a girl,' he agreed. 'So this Rita Torres has stolen my youngest son,' he concluded with sufficient gloom to cause Marco to raise his eyes in protest.

'No papa. You should know nobody can ever do that. It's just that I like her too.'

His father laughed. 'I was only teasing you, Marco. It's high time you found a girl to admire, you're twenty already, after all! But there's still something you haven't told me, so come on. Let's get it all out in the open tonight, and then tomorrow we can concentrate on the living.'

He nodded, accepting the wisdom of the request. _Get it all out now and see what he says and then enjoy the vacation. Don't carry it inside you._ 'I heard her talking about me once,' he admitted, winding the bottom of his t-shirt restlessly round his finger. 'I was working on some plans and Miguel was watching some baseball when she rang the bell. We got the plans and threw them into the spare room and Miguel told me to lock the door and keep real quiet. I sat on the floor in the dark because the bed creaked.'

His father stirred, pouring them a second glass of tequila. 'So what did she say?'

'She was full of hate towards me. The moment she entered she told Miguel his sister was seeing someone, some Mexican. She said it like it's a crime. Then,' he paused uncertainly while his father nodded at him urging him to continue. 'She said all kinds of things. She was there for an hour.'

'What things, m'ijo?' his father pressed, sensing his reluctance to elaborate.

'It's not good.' Marco fell silent, taking a gulp of tequila. 'Remember, she never even set eyes on me. I was referred to as a flea-infested Mexican gangster, a useless peasant, dirty and illiterate, or semi literate, a mongrel of uncertain ancestry and I don't even remember what else, but it kept being repeated. She said Rita was mad even sitting next to such a person let alone speaking to me. That we got nothing here and we're all living on whatever we can scrape together from the dirt and she'd sink to our level if she stayed with me, and that no one should expect her to support us should Rita choose to marry me…First I was real mad listening to all her slurs but when she said that last part…' He shook his head, unwilling to admit he had been reduced to tears.

'She sounds like a witch from hell,' his father exclaimed. 'But her daughter, this Rita, she seems a decent person.'

'You're not going to warn me to keep away from her? That she's far too wealthy for me?' he pressed.

His father rose, picking up the half empty bottle. 'What should I say, Marco? You're more familiar with the situation than I am. You're facing tremendous obstacles, but if you love this girl and she loves you, I won't stand in your way.' He squeezed his son's shoulder. 'It might just be the tequila, m'ijo, but listen to this anyway. Fight for her! A good woman is always worth fighting for!'

Marco fell into bed a lot happier than before and slept like the dead. It required fully two minutes of shaking by his mother to get him to the point of opening his eyes. He stared at her groggily, blinking in the dim light. 'Hmmm.'

'Marco, get up! The sun's nearly up and breakfast's ready! We need to get the grapes today. Are you sick, m'ijo?'

He mumbled something about joining them directly and fumbled for his clothes, his head swimming. Despite his best efforts his parents were nearly finished when he stumbled downstairs, hugging them both. 'Big city turned you lazy, young man,' his father remarked, chewing his lip. 'It's almost five!'

Marco mumbled his apologies red-faced.

'Muchacho, I can't afford to waste a minute of early morning. It will get hot soon. Join us when you're done.'

He pushed his way through the rows of corn barefoot, sandals in hand. Insects chirped all around him and the last of the dew shone on the tips of the corn. Marco indulged his childhood joy of shaking a few vigorously and watching the drops splatter on the ground. A crow eyed his approach belligerently as it nibbled on a stalk. 'Hey,' he cried, clapping his hands. 'Shoo.'

'Well m'ijo, for a man whose greatest ambition in life was to be a scarecrow, you're a little lazy,' his father teased, handing him some cutters and a box.

Marco stopped, his face flushing as he recalled the day when he was around six years old and had slipped out of the house after breakfast. His father had searched for him, scolding him when he was discovered playing between the corn, his entire body covered in mud. Didn't he want to go to school and learn something to get a good job? The child had shaken his head, explaining that he was going to get a job as a scarecrow! 'Tio Pedro promised he'd pay me,' he insisted as he was scooped in his father's arms and hurried back to the house for a bath. 'He said I was a fantastic scarecrow! I don't _need_ to go to school!'

Mortified, he set about clipping the bunches of ripe grapes, working fast and methodically. _Just don't tell Rita I said that, Papa, please. It's not something she'll ever allow me to forget!_

The following week passed so rapidly he barely had a moment to miss Rita, though he did miss her. Life would indeed have been perfect had she been with him, he reflected as he carried boxes of vegetables to the cellar. Life would be perfect then…

'Marco, you're dreaming again,' his mother scolded, beckoning from the top of the stairwell. 'Come in the house and see what just arrived.' Seeing her smile his heart leapt in his throat and he stashed the remaining vegetables faster than ever before. The instant he was done he raced for the house, entering its cool interior. A pile of mail lay on the dining room table, the majority addressed to him. Eager fingers pulled the dozen postcards to the side as he tore open an envelope.

His father took it from him, sniffing the letter dubiously. 'She might be rich, muchacho, but she's a girl like all the others,' he concluded, handing it back to his crimson faced son. 'That's just an expensive perfume.'

Marco carried the letter outside under the shade of a palm tree and read it slowly hearing her voice as though she spoke to him. Page after page contained her account of their Italian holiday, the narrative interrupted by constant admissions of her loneliness without him.

_I love you my friend. Come down to the lake at 5:00 on the 31st and I'll be there. I need a MASSIVE kiss!_

_You'll get it, querida,_ he promised, remaining in his happy frame of mind the entire day.

The following fortnight sped past, Marco working in the fields with his father, joined by a few relatives. Three days were devoted to collecting the harvest for the widow whose property adjoined theirs, her gnarled hand stroking his cheek as he stacked the final boxes in her cellar. 'Gracias, Marco. I don't know when my sons would have time to come…'

He shook his head. 'It's no problem, Tia Blanca. I still remember those apricot ices you used to make.'

She read his hopeful expression and laughed, nodding her head at the kitchen. 'Check the freezer, muchacho. You might find a few.'

'Marco, at this age! You should be ashamed,' his father protested as he returned, three lollies in his hands.

He shook his head, settling at an outdoor table. 'This one's for you, Papa. Ashamed of liking Tia Blanca's lollies? I don't think I'll ever be too old to eat these!'

His father sighed, shaking his head in amusement. 'That I can well believe!'

'Tomas, you must take some boxes of fruit for yourself,' the old lady insisted. 'Without you and Marco there's no way I'd have anything done.'

They shook their heads simultaneously. 'We got plenty this year,' Marco assured her, sucking his second ice.

'You done a great job with that child,' the old lady praised his father while Marco struggled to contain his mirth. 'He's got perfect manners and he's so helpful.'

'Just as he should be,' his father insisted. 'It's a sad day when neighbors ignore each other, and it won't happen while I'm around!'

The entire holiday would have been perfect had not an old classmate of his tapped him on the shoulder on his final Sunday after church with his family. Marco turned, less than pleased to see the person who had caused him regular grief during his early schooldays. 'Felipe,' he said.

'Marco the genius! Still getting everything right, I guess. Heard you moved to the United States!'

'I'm studying there,' he replied lazily. 'I live _here_.'

Felipe nodded, leaning closer. 'But not for much longer, I take it. Come on Marco, you were always the brightest kid in the school! Get yourself a Green Card and you never need to return. Or find a girl! Green Card is guaranteed if you find an American wife. Just find out how many years such a marriage got to last, and then you're a free man!'

'Look here, Felipe,' Marco hissed, his cheeks crimson. 'I am there to study, that's all! I am in no position to think of matrimony, and I won't be for several years!' Fingers clenched round the back of a pew he drew a deep breath, thoughts of Rita filling his mind. _Though there is someone special…_

'You were always pathetic,' Felipe laughed, beckoning two others over. 'Marco's incapable of finding a girl in America! How many more should there be, Marco, before you are able to choose? Or perhaps you're inclined the other way?'

Without planning it his fingers grasped Felipe's shirt, pulling his nose inches from his own. 'When I find a girl is none of your business, Felipe. I suggest you leave now, before I forget where we are!'

Felipe took a step backwards, glancing thankfully at the Padre who was working his way determinedly towards them. 'You got too many brains, Marco! You're not even on this planet! I dunno where you are, but it's not here! You don't even know what fun we had pinning all the blame for everything at school on you!'

Marco's jaw tightened as his fist clenched.

'Good morning, boys. Is there a problem here?' the Padre began, eyeing Marco.

He shook his head, releasing Felipe. 'No Padre, no problem. We were just talking!'

'I suggest you carry on your conversation outside,' he warned them, stepping round the group to greet some old ladies.

A hand laid on his shoulder turned him round and Marco found himself eye to eye with his father. 'It's time to go, right, Papa?'

His father nodded silently. The walk home was quiet; his mother discussing bottling jars of apricots while he strode beside her, casting occasional uneasy glances at his father. 'Why don't you two bring a few potatoes from the cellar,' his mother suggested once they arrived, and he nodded, changing into comfortable clothes.

Footsteps led downwards as he scrubbed them and he drew a deep breath. 'I'm sorry, papa.'

He was met with a writhing glare. The lecture he received lasted well over half an hour, the words lost in the dimness of the cellar as his eyes fell on a narrow chink of light, brightening and fading as the clouds raced across the sky, reminding him of the sun shimmering on a necklace. He resolved to buy her one before he returned, his heart brimming with happiness.

The necklace slid smoothly through his fingers as he stared mesmerized at the reflections within each intricately woven bubble. Horrendous as the price was he knew he would purchase it. It would look fantastic on her and she deserved it. Thoughts of holding her in his arms filled his head as he paid for it and boarded his train.


	41. The Camping Trip

The car wound its way between the pines as it followed the track to the picnic spot. Rita for once was forced to keep her undivided attention on her driving leaving Marco free to admire the scenery in peace. Birds sang above them as they flitted from tree to tree and his sharp eyes made out a fox peering at them behind a bush. Happier than ever before he leaned back breathing in the clear air. _You've been in this country almost three years, Almeida, and this is the loveliest spot you've ever visited. It's like you imagined paradise to be. _He knew his feelings were greatly influenced by the presence of his companion who turned her face momentarily to grin at him.

'It's real beautiful here, isn't it?' she pressed.

'Sí,' he agreed. 'You got a spot in mind to pitch the tent?'

'Just leave it to me!' she told him, driving a little slower. 'You'll love it!'

He nodded; aware he would love any spot where they could spend three undisturbed days together, able to hold hands openly without the need to maintain a constant vigil for anyone who might be acquainted with Rita. 'Enjoy the warmth,' he teased, slipping his arm round her shoulders. 'You won't be getting much of that in Greenland!'

Rita sighed unhappily. 'It's not as though you'll be here,' she protested, wishing he could accompany her on the cruise.

'No. I must go home; my parents will be expecting me. There's always a lot of work needs to be done in the summer,' he explained lazily. 'They need me!' The final sentence was said cheerily masking his envy at her holiday plans. _Get over it, Almeida. She's got the money and you don't. If you're honest, you'd love to see Greenland but you'd be real cold there. And there'd be no one to help at home… _'Anyway, it's only two months,' he said, squeezing her hand. 'Then you got a year of me again!'

They fell silent at his final sentence, neither willing to broach the subject of what would follow once they completed their degrees. Rita forced her attention to the road shrugging all her concern about the future aside. There was another year before them to enjoy, another year of sneaking around behind her mother's back to meet Marco, another year of proof reading his assignments and accompanying him to Cubs games. She grinned at the final thought.

'Hmm?' he questioned, watching her. 'Spit it out, Rita. What have you got planned this time?'

'There's another game on the weekend,' she said, watching his face from the mirror. As expected he rolled his eyes and groaned aloud.

'Not another one! You can't expect me to attend again.'

'I can and I do,' she insisted, her eyes sparkling. 'Who else would I go with if not my boyfriend?'

'Your brother!' he replied, swatting a mosquito that had found its way inside.

'I like to go with you,' she teased, throwing him a look that melted his heart. 'And I love baseball, so you'll come watch! You know the rules now. Besides, our kids might like the game. You could be bringing them in the next ten years.'

Marco's eyes widened as he searched her face. _Seems she still wants you, Almeida._ He nodded slowly. 'Okay, I'll come with you.' _You'll go anywhere with her, Almeida, you both know that! She just needs to name the place._

'You know you'll have to take our sons to baseball practice as well,' she continued, watching his horrified look in pure joy. 'It's the father's job,' she concluded while he nodded grimly.

'In that case, I hope we have girls!'

Rita reached forward swatting him on the thigh. 'We'll have both! I'm naming them, remember?'

Marco nodded, chewing his lip. 'I never forget anything, querida! Ouch.' He caught her hand as she swatted him again. 'You're not supposed to beat me up before the wedding. I might just do a runner!'

'You're going nowhere,' she told him firmly, narrowing her eyes. 'Hey, you talk too much. I nearly missed our turn!'

'Hah,' he cried, justifiably indignant. '_I've_ been talking!' She reversed rapidly, Marco glancing anxiously from his wound down window. 'Watch out, querida. The trees won't move!'

Rita glared at him and they moved forward, turning the car between two trees on a rough track left by larger vehicles in the grass. 'Are you saying something about my driving, Marco?'

He shook his head. 'No. After all, they managed to fix your car so well in the garage it looks new! Not your fault that electric pole refused to move! Ouch,' he yelped as she pinched his leg. 'Rita, that's it. I'm definitely escaping now. I mean, have you considered it from the pole's point of view. There it was, minding its own business standing in the same spot for years and you reversed into it. And you know what? I don't care what the city thinks, it's dangerous tilting like that now. It'll definitely hit the next driver who crashes into it. So querida, I don't think you should try parking there anytime soon. Ow ow ow…'

'For your information, Marco Almeida, I was in a hurry that day,' Rita defended herself. 'I was rushing to meet you. This is ridiculous, you know,' she concluded gloomily. 'After these holidays I'm going to speak to Papa.'

Marco regarded her dubiously. 'If you're sure it's the right idea,' he said grimly. 'Things haven't changed all that much, sweetheart. I'm still a Mexican student with very little money.'

Rita squeezed his hand, her eyes filled with love. 'I don't care how much you got, Marco. You'll earn more once you graduate.' She stopped the car and he gasped in awe at the sight that met his eyes. A shallow brook gurgled into the lake surrounded by weeping willows. Tall pines towered beyond them having the appearance of a dozen magical paths that led into the forest. Knee high grass stretched to the brook and a myriad grasshoppers sang. Rounding a tiny headland he saw the lake, a family of ducks swimming in a line. Moved, he returned to his friend.

'It's beautiful,' he agreed. 'Nobody can even see us from here. We're alone.'

'You better believe it,' Rita replied. 'We didn't drive all this way to see others. Aren't you going to give me a hand with the stuff?'

Marco shrugged, eyeing her. 'I don't know, am I?'

Rita hissed at him, and he backed off, laughing aloud. 'What did you say?'

'I said I surrender, I'm coming. You're cruel, you know, making me work at siesta time!'

'You'll get your siesta once you set the tent up,' she decided, pointing to a sunny patch. 'Set it up there, will you? I'll get the things.'

He opened the tent, placing their bags of clothes inside while she spread a rug on the grass under a willow. Knowing she was watching he forced himself to ignore the lunch preparations as he struggled over to her with the box of food. 'I got everything set up, Rita. Is there anything else you'd like me to do before I have a siesta?' he teased.

'Yeah, eat,' she said, laughing at him. 'Sit down.' She opened a box of salad and pushed the packets of sandwiches over to him. Mouth watering he selected a ham sandwich, leaning against the box to munch it. Rita searched through the remaining packets till she discovered her favorite egg sandwich, whereupon she settled beside him, her head on his shoulder. Marco slipped his arm round her, raising his eyebrows.

'Comfortable?'

'Aha,' she replied lazily, shutting her eyes to tilt her face towards the warm sun.

'Did you complete your assignment about the Declaration of Independence?' he inquired, finishing his sandwich and picking a second one at random from the dwindling pile.

Rita shook her head, opening her mouth to explain but dissolving into peals of laughter instead. Marco narrowed his eyes, watching her in amusement as she sat beside him shaking with laughter, the half eaten sandwich jerking in her hand. 'I couldn't…' she began, shaking her head rapidly as she dissolved into fresh gales of merriment.

He shook his head, unable to prevent himself joining her laughter. 'Okay, Rita, what did you do this time?' he inquired lazily. 'You got something to confess again. I swear you got more character than a hundred others!'

Rita stared at him and swallowed a little juice, making a concerted effort to explain. 'Remember the book I had, the one I was using for the assignment?' He nodded patiently. 'Well, it was one of those in heavy demand that wasn't supposed to be borrowed from the library, and I knew I'd need it the next day too, so I…'

His eyes narrowed to tiny slits. 'What did you do with it, querida? You didn't smuggle it out?' he questioned.

'No. I done better. I hid it somewhere! I took it down to the accounting section, and I put it between two thick accounting books. It was the logical thing to do, Marco. Will you quit looking at me like that?' She slapped his arm. 'I really needed that book one more day! Anyway, no one doing accounting would take that book, and no one doing history would know where I hid it, so I was sure I'd have it the next morning, except…'

'What?' he inquired, intrigued. 'One of the accountants actually decided to read a little history?'

'Oh no, get real! No, what happened was silly really. I forgot to make note of the shelf number, so I couldn't find my book either. I kept going round and round…I remembered it was near some fire extinguisher, but there were quite a few…' Marco shook his head at her, chewing his lip to hide his gathering amusement. 'And as I was searching this librarian came. You know they never come when you're actually looking for something, but now she came alright, and asked can she help me with anything. I said no, I'm just browsing.'

Marco spat his mouthful of cheese sandwich out in a hurry before he could choke on it, the tears of amusement sparkling in his eyes. 'Hijole, Rita! That was terrible,' he groaned, pulling her towards him. 'You got zero consideration of others. Didn't your parents teach you how to share?'

She gave a slight shake of the head. _She's honest, at any rate. They probably haven't!_ 'You got a punishment, querida,' he said gently, turning her to face him. 'You're gonna spend the rest of your life sharing your stuff with others! Just wait and see! We all get our worst weaknesses thrown at us.'

'You missed your vocation,' she murmured, half asleep in the warm sun. 'You should've studied psychiatry. Anyway, let's have our siesta.' Without further comment she curled up on the rug and shut her eyes.

Marco shook his head at her and packed the food away before it could spoil after which he curled up on the opposite end of the picnic rug. Grasshopper chirping lulled him to sleep. _Why can't it always be this warm round here?_

Icy drops of water hitting his nose from a couple of inches above him shocked him awake an hour later. Rita knelt above him splashing him from a bucket, her eyes sparkling with fun. Using his military training he reached out to grab her without opening his eyes more than a crack. Her split second reactions proved faster than his. She leapt to her feet giggling, backing away behind the trees. 'Wake up.'

'You just wait, Rita Torres,' he called, scrambling to his feet in mock indignation. 'You're gonna regret waking a sleeping Mexican. That's one thing you never, ever do if you hope to have a long life.'

She gave a squeal of fright as he advanced towards her, turning to run. Marco chased her between the trees, slowing to allow her to keep her distance whenever he approached too close as he enjoyed the game immensely. There was something primeval chasing the most beautiful girl he had ever seen through the woods, something that set his heart pumping when he eventually caught her and swung her into his arms, gasping for breath as he ignored her pleas for mercy, dumping her into the lake. 'Cooled down yet?' he questioned, unwisely bending forward to watch her gasping in shock. The next instant he felt his arm yanked and he toppled forward into the icy water himself, landing on top of her.

The unexpected drenching took his breath away. Rita watched him from a distance of a couple of feet, apparently acclimatized. 'Cold, is it?' she teased.

'Cold as the grave,' he groaned, rubbing the water from his hair.

'You need to get moving to warm up,' she told him swimming to join him. 'We'll have a race, Marco. Over to that log and back. The one who touches the bank first is the winner, and there's absolutely no cheating allowed.'

'But I'm dressed,' he protested in futility as she had already set off.

'I'm wearing mine too,' she yelled, swimming as fast as she could. Marco set off, determined to catch up with her, but her swimming was a lot better than his and she beat him by a full minute, laughing in triumph. 'I won.'

He nodded grimly, helping her out of the lake. 'You did. The winner's got to cook tonight! That's the only reason I let you win, Rita!'

'Rubbish,' she exclaimed indignantly. 'You just made that up now. You're a sore loser, Marco. Tell you what; I'll cook if you find me enough logs to light a fire.'

'Somehow, you always end up with the better deal,' he complained good naturedly. 'I'll do that as soon as I find a dry t-shirt!' He rummaged through his belongings dressing outside while she dressed in the tent, unable to resist staring at him as he stripped. Eye to the unzipped crack she watched him fling his wet clothes in a pile on the grass, rubbing himself with a worn towel. Mesmerized she allowed her imagination free rein, trying to picture what it would feel like to be made love to. A slight gasp escaped her as he bent to retrieve his dry clothes and the moment was ruined. Quick as a flash he pulled the towel round himself, turning to glare in her direction. 'Rita!'

'I'm just, I was only, I didn't see…' she stammered, embarrassed into incoherence.

'You were watching,' he said, turning crimson.

She chewed her lip guiltily hoping he wouldn't pack his bag and leave.

'You're terrible,' he said, beginning to laugh. 'Just how would you feel if I had taken a peek at you?'

_Thrilled, really! Such a shame you're so honest._ She shook her head speechless.

Marco's eyes narrowed as he read her thoughts, his heart racing. 'I'll go collect those logs,' he mumbled, throwing his shoes on as he hastened away before he could show her his own growing desire. _Get a grip, Almeida. If you can't control yourself better than that you'll have to take a dive into that icy lake again!_ It was fully twenty minutes before he trusted himself enough to return, laying the logs into a circle and lighting a fire. Face turned from her he fussed over it, blowing on the tiny flame to encourage it to spread. The fire burned steadily before he risked a glance in her direction noting her shiver in the breeze.

'You're cold,' he said gently, pulling her over to the fire. 'Sit there and warm up. Hey, your hair's wet.' He found his towel, rubbing her thick hair a few strands at a time. 'You don't want to end up with a cold and spoil your Greenland cruise.'

Her heart ached at the slight tremble in his voice. He was obviously going to miss her as much as she missed him and suddenly the thought of not seeing him for almost three months was more than she could bear. A slight sob escaped her.

'Hey, you'll have fun,' he whispered attempting to comfort her. 'Think of all those ice-bergs. They looked great in that brochure.'

Rita shook her head, too cold to wish to consider ice-bergs.

'Your t-shirt's wet,' he announced, running a finger along her back. 'It's soaked, querida. Your hair must have dripped on it. Why don't you go change?'

Rita nodded, sniffing. She was halfway to the tent before she paused, rushing back to him. 'I don't want to go to Greenland without you, Marco. I don't want to spend even one day without you,' she wept, sinking into his arms.

Startled he hugged her towards him, stroking her hair and muttering comments about how quickly the time would pass in her ear, all the while aware she couldn't possibly hear him through her sobs. He wished he knew how to cheer her up as he hated the flood of tears that poured over his fingers. 'Shh Rita,' he whispered, terrified he would weep himself at the thought of not seeing her for the entire summer. 'Where's your bag? You need a dry t-shirt.'

'I didn't bring anymore,' she sobbed, burying her face in his neck. 'I was packing when mom got home…' _There's no way she would've believed I needed more than two for a day's babysitting little Tom._ She flushed, aware that she had indeed lied to her mother, a serious lie this time. Miguel, the proud father of a two year had agreed to back her up and pretend she spent the weekend babysitting, shaking his head at her. _"Enjoy the day with Hobo!"_

'I'll lend you one,' he said, fumbling through his bag in gathering despair at the sight of his faded clothes. He selected a red t-shirt that looked reasonable and handed it to her. 'Put it on.'

Rita appeared too upset to do anything at the moment, reaching her arms up like a young child. Marco swallowed, his heartbeat increasing again as he pulled it off her. Shaking hands held out his own t-shirt to her, pulling it over her head as she settled on his lap. His lips touched her neck of their own volition and kissed her, moving lower. She shivered in his arms, snuggling closer to him. Her face turned towards his and he grasped her arms, kissing her passionately as he lowered her onto the rug. Her arms reached for his hair curling it onto her fingers. 'I want…' her hands tugged his own t-shirt. 'I want you, Marco. Properly.'

He gazed at her startled, his excitement rising while he struggled to fight it down. 'Querida, it's wrong.'

'Hiding you from everyone for two years was wrong too. I'm so sorry, my friend. I should've just told them all where to go,' she said breathless, her cheeks a little flushed. 'Can you ever forgive me?'

'There's nothing to forgive,' he insisted, watching while she pulled his shirt over his head. Heart pounding he drew her closer to him looking questioningly at her. 'You real sure?' he whispered, aware he would indeed need to submerge in the icy lake for several hours if she changed her mind.

'Yeah,' she whispered. 'I want you.'

Gentle fingers caressed her while he leaned forward, kissing every inch of her body as he removed her clothes.

Marco ran his fingers through her hair as they sat together hours later, his eyes on the dark lake before them. A crescent moon bobbed on the surface surrounded by stars and the reflection cast by his dying fire. Her hair was slightly damp to his touch, her body warm in his arms. He swallowed as he hugged her, aware she had cast a spell over him he would never be able to break free from. Not that he wanted to. Rita Torres had his heart and he would love her till his dying day. Staring at the moon he resolved to buy her a ring and present it to her before she left for her vacation, even if she chose to hide it.

Rita shifted slightly, laying her head against his chest. Her gaze followed the tops of the trees waving in the breeze as she relived every minute of the previous two hours. She trembled slightly as she recalled the passion he had aroused as he kissed her, his strength and gentleness as he had taken her, his words of reassurance as the two of them merged together. She would follow him to the end of the earth if necessary.


	42. Unexpected Surprise

Rita squeezed her eyes shut to block out the doctor's words though she was aware what his diagnosis would be. She prayed she was wrong as he settled back at his desk. _Oh please God, don't let this be happening. If you just save me this once I'll never ever ever…_

'When were you planning on letting the father know?'

A hot tear slid from her eyes and she bit her lip. 'There's definitely a baby, then?' she whispered.

'Most certainly,' the doctor assured her as he passed her the box of tissues. 'I'd say you're around three months pregnant.'

She nodded, blowing her nose. 'Three months and six days,' she muttered unhappily. 'It was the only time…It was just that once.' _Why is this happening to me? What did I do to deserve it? Things were just starting to work out._ She pressed her ring tight in her hand as it swung on a chain round her throat.

'Once is all it takes,' he reminded her gently. 'Rita, find the baby's father. You'll need to know where he stands if you're planning on keeping it.'

An icy shiver ran through her and her fingers tightened round the ring. 'Oh God,' she groaned. 'He'll be horrified. He won't want to speak to me again!'

'Nevertheless you owe it to him to inform him of the baby,' the doctor insisted. 'The majority of men experience a mild shock the first time. Not that it's any of my business, but have you discussed this with your family?'

Cheeks scarlet, she shook her head. 'No.'

'You might think about that too. You might find they'll be supportive should you wish to keep the infant. Discuss the situation with your parents and the child's father separately. A surprising number of men stand by their girlfriends and accept the responsibility of a child. Should you decide that option is not for you there are other alternatives.'

'Other alternatives?' she whispered, the world spinning around her.

'About the baby. Should you decide against keeping him there are certain agencies that will ensure a suitable adoptive family…'

Shocked, she shook her head, fresh tears pouring from her eyes. 'I can't lose my baby! And no, before you say anything else listen to me! He's mine. He stays with me. I want him.'

'You got a while to consider all your options,' the doctor assured her. 'There's no hurry to reach a decision. Don't neglect the consideration of your own quality of life. A newborn takes a considerable amount of time.'

Rita nodded, sobered into silence as she left the surgery. _Oh God what did I get myself into? I don't know the first thing about babies! How will I know if I'm doing okay? What if I raise a nutcase? What if the child is sick? What if…_ She paused, shaking her head. _Stop worrying, Rita. You'll do fine._

The lakeside park was crammed to capacity with young families as she climbed from her car needing a little while undisturbed. Excited children swung on swings and kicked balls to each other. A blue eyed toddler held a collie's leash as he struggled to keep up with it. She wondered what her own child would look like. _Definitely not blue eyed! He'll have eyes like yours and with any luck he'll inherit Marco's wavy hair. Marco! What in the world is he supposed to think? He's just beginning to write A-grade assignments and earn enough to have fun every weekend, and send some home. He's been sending some home ever since he got the job as a tracer though he's unaware you know about it. There's no way he'll be able to afford to raise a child at the moment, though, not on a part time wage._ She walked blindly down the path tracing the route she and Marco had followed three years previously. Settling in her favorite spot she rested her chin in her hands and stared at the swirling water. _Maybe if Mama and Papa agree to help us this year just till he has a chance to graduate… It would only be for nine months and that guy promised him a position the moment he's qualified. We could rent a small apartment then and save for a house. I'm so sorry, sweetheart,_ she paused, aware her hand rested on her stomach as though shielding the child she carried. _You need a garden to play in, and you'll get one. I'll make sure of that._ Wearily she shut her eyes, counting the days till Marco's return. _Two more. So who should I ask for help first, him or mom?_ She rubbed her eyes warily. _If only I could tell Marco mom would help out he might not catch the same train back…_

The sun dipped behind the row of trees as she sat motionless praying for the best.

In the end the simplest solution presented itself to her. She resolved to keep her secret another two days till Marco's return before confronting her parents with an addition to the family. It was the coward's way out but as she sat in the dining room struggling to force down her dinner she sensed it was also the safest.

The Torres residence changed into a hellhole on the morning of the second day. Rita finished a large breakfast and gathered the dishes to place them in the dishwasher when Catalina raised her head. 'Come back a minute. Javier wishes to invite you out on his yacht tomorrow evening. See that you're home by five.'

Rita prayed for courage as she faced her mother. 'I can't go with him, mom,' she said softly.

'Don't be a fool,' Catalina snapped. 'You'll certainly come. It's unfortunate you were so sick on the Greenland cruise but this is only a lake! It's about time you tried to attract him, you'll be finished with college this year.'

'Mom, there's something you should know,' Rita whispered, averting her eyes as she returned to the table. 'I don't love Javier, I love…'

'You love that flea infested Mexican I forbade you to see,' Catalina snarled. 'Don't think I'm unaware you're still seeing him. It's going to stop once and for all. This year he will also graduate and he'll disappear back to wherever he came from and we'll never hear from him again. You, on the other hand…'

Rita wiped the first tears from her face. 'You don't need to sound so pleased about that, mom. He's probably going to run for it a lot sooner than that,' she sniffed.

'Thank God for small mercies,' her mother said unkindly. 'Now…'

'Mom, I'm pregnant,' Rita interrupted in a low voice; half hoping her mother had failed to hear her confession.

Catalina's face darkened. 'You're _what_?' she gasped. 'Margarita, what did you say?'

'You heard,' she sniffed.

'My God! What did I raise? Who is the father, if you even know the answer to that?'

Rita's face darkened. 'Of course I know. What kind of person do you think I am?'

'The type that gets pregnant before marriage is a whore, and that's the only way to describe you. WHO IS THE FATHER?'

Rita chewed her lip and stared her down. 'Marco.'

'Oh Lord. Out of all the young men in college it had to be that penniless Mexican! He took you for a fool, my daughter, and you fell for the oldest trick in the book. He thinks he'll get his Green Card now. Well he won't. If it's the _last_ thing I do I'll make certain he'll never qualify. People like him don't belong here! Look at the trouble he managed to cause. Why are you still sitting there? We're going to deal with this problem at once. _You're_ getting rid of that thing….'

'I won't,' Rita contradicted, beyond fury. That her mother was outraged had come as no surprise, that she had termed her a whore had. That the baby she was beginning to consider a real person had been named a 'thing' was too much. 'I want this child.'

'You're insane. The whole world will you see with that mongrel…'

'Don't you ever call my baby that again,' Rita hissed.

'I'll call it whatever I choose. You're getting rid of it today. I believe Tia Elena knows someone who once assisted her daughter Maria in a similar situation. I'll call her! You realize what a lot of money you're costing us?'

Rita rose and shook her head. 'I'm not going anywhere. This is my baby and I've decided to keep him!'

Catalina rose to glare at her. 'Then you're out of this house. Think about that. I refuse to pay your tuition for the year. Where will that leave you, ah? No degree, no home, no health insurance. You'll be out on the street with that bastard, not that you could possibly bring greater shame on me if you lived there.'

'You know what, Mama. I'll go pack a few things and I'll move out,' Rita choked. 'I hoped you'd help us like any other mother would but I can see you just don't care.'

Catalina grabbed her arm in a rage. 'Don't imagine you're taking a single thing from this house,' she hissed, beside herself with fury. 'You'll leave with nothing. I haven't got a daughter anymore.' She pushed Rita before her across the hall and unlocked the door. 'Get out.'

Rita stared at her startled before she nodded. Wordless, she turned and walked down the path, shaking violently.

'I'm telling you now, Rita, that man won't stay with you! He just used you!' her mother yelled behind her.

'You don't know him. He'd never do that. He loves me and we'll raise this child together, you'll see!'

'That you won't,' Catalina yelled louder, following her down the path. 'I'll make certain, if it's the last thing I do, that that mongrel will _never _live in this country! You'll be out on the streets alone, like you deserve, ungrateful whore!' The reverberating slam of the front door sounded ominous to her ears. The street had never seemed as quiet as it did that morning. Tears coursed down her cheeks as she set off in the direction of the bus stop. Only after the doors slid open did she realize that she was in effect penniless. A sympathetic old man lent her the fare to the station.

_Welcome back, Marco. I hope you had a great vacation, coz it's over now. Everything's over._ She blinked back what threatened to be a torrent of tears, giving way to them once she reached the station. A handful of relatives occupied the few benches, forcing her to stand at the end of the platform. Rita shook her head and forced further tears in as the train was announced. _Pull yourself together. You're here to say goodbye._ She pulled her palm across her tear stained face and tried to ignore the disembarking passengers who pushed past her.

'Hey, querida. What's wrong?' a tender voice asked and familiar arms enveloped her, lifting her for a kiss. 'Gimme a smile. Rita,' he begged, growing anxious. 'You're not sick, are you?'

She shook her head, gulping. 'I…My mom threw me out,' she began, unable to continue for the fresh flood of tears.

Marco stared at her startled. 'What?' he inquired in disbelief. 'Where are you staying then, princess?'

She shrugged. 'I got to find a job today,' she muttered, gazing at his shoes. 'Right now, while I still have my old address. I don't even know where I'm going…'

'Hey,' he interrupted, frightened. 'You gotta start at the beginning, sweetheart. Why would your mother throw you out? She's probably just mad about something. She'll calm down by tonight.' _Please don't let it have anything to do with me._

A fresh flood of tears greeted his words as he squeezed her hand. 'She's mad about the baby, that I won't get rid of him,' she wept, her voice so choked he had difficulty making out the words. 'She called me a whore and said she hasn't got a daughter anymore and…'

'Baby, what baby?' he interrupted, a sick feeling creeping over him. 'Rita, talk to me.' She sniffed, choking incoherently. Desperately worried he searched his pockets for a clean handkerchief, passing it to her. 'Blow your nose, querida. Tell me what baby.'

Rita took a while rubbing her face while he fought against the urge to yell. 'We made a baby that night at the lake,' she admitted, eyeing the empty tracks. 'It's okay, Marco, I'll find a job and raise him…'

Marco drew a deep breath unsure whether the sudden pounding in his skull was due to shock or the next train racing to the neighboring track. Seeing her look of desperation he grabbed her arm at the last moment and pulled her to him. 'You mean you and I, that night…'

She nodded unhappily. 'Yeah. That one night.'

He raised his eyebrows in disbelief. 'It didn't take us long,' he muttered, squeezing her hand reassuringly. 'Now don't cry, princess. You'll come back to my room and we'll think about what to do from here. It's gonna be okay,' he assured her, lifting his backpack. 'Come on.'

'So you're still talking to me?' she questioned, cheered by his calm acceptance of the news.

Marco stared at her startled. 'Why wouldn't I?' His eyes searched her forlorn figure in distress. _She's taking the entire blame for this on herself…_ His heart ached as he pulled her closer to him. 'So what would you like, boy or girl?' he inquired, hoping to cheer her.

'A boy,' she sniffed, clutching his hand. 'We might have a chance to survive together, him and me. A girl in a rough place…'

Marco stopped and pulled her to a halt. 'What rough place?'

'I won't be able to work once he's born,' she sniffed. 'I got no one to help. It's gonna be real bad for a while.'

'Come here,' he insisted, laying the backpack on the ground and wrapping his arms round her. 'What do you mean, no one to help? And why should you work? You got the most important job either of us can ever get. You'll be a mommy! I'll support us all, don't you worry about it!'

Her eyes widened as the full implication of his words sank in. 'You're not mad?'

Marco shook his head slowly, amazed at the sudden warmth in his heart. 'No querida,' he said honestly. 'I'm not. I'm glad.' And he was. The more he considered the unexpected news the happier he felt.

'You're crazy,' she whispered, at peace again.

'Sí. You're probably right.' He took her hand, kissing her warmly. 'Now let's go back to my room, mommy, and put this stuff down and then I'll call my boss and let him know I'll be working for him full time from now on, and then we'll go pick an apartment.'

'What about college?' she pressed, shocked at the thought of him quitting. 'You can't just leave.'

'I won't quit, princess, but I'll need to change to part time,' he explained, walking her towards a cab. 'I won't be able to work full time and finish an entire year's work together. It's okay, I'll do it in two. You mustn't worry anymore, Rita, that's my job.' She leant her head against his shoulder worn out by the arguments of the morning. Marco ran his hands through her hair, his heart aching in sympathy. Strict as her parents were she loved them and to be disinherited was worse than anything he could imagine. His own parents would have plenty to say to him, he was certain, but they would conclude their lecture by insisting he bring Rita and the baby to meet them.

He led her upstairs to the apartment he shared with two other students and unlocked the door, leading her into his room. He settled her comfortably on the bed while he poured her a juice and made a sandwich, carrying them back to her. They ate together in compatible silence watching the other to gauge the depth of their commitments. 'Now querida, you had a rough day. Try and sleep a little and let me go sort out my enrollment,' Marco told her, tucking her into his bed. 'I'll be back as soon as I can.' He knelt beside the bed kissing her lips. 'I love you,' he assured her as he left the room.

_You're going to be a father, Almeida. _He had to force himself to walk rather than skip. Chicago had never seemed as beautiful to him as it did that afternoon.

The first glitch came as he stood in the familiar office eyeing his boss. Mr. Adams regarded him speculatively. 'Let me get this right, Almeida. You need over twice as many hours and you wish to be paid in cash. That sounds a little odd to me.'

Marco remained silent, eyes on the table. 'Sir, you said there's plenty more work tracing.'

'There's always plenty of work tracing, but are you certain you're allowed to do any more hours. I thought foreign students were limited.'

Marco chewed his lip. _Limited, yes. They changed your enrollment at the college but they warned you not to consider working extra hours if you wished to avoid deportation. 'I'll hand this request in to go part time. It might not be accepted, though. We've never had a foreign scholarship winner who wished to reduce his hours. They might not go for it.'_

Marco had pleaded with him until the man changed his enrollment, eyeing him dubiously. Mr. Adams was worse. 'How much of that would you need in cash?' he inquired casually knowing he had the young man cornered.

'Half of it,' Marco replied, without batting an eyelid.

'Half your wage tax-free! Tell me why I would wish to risk getting caught paying an employee cash!'

'Because I trace better than your other employees, sir, and there's no way you'll get caught,' Marco replied steadily. 'No one can know how many drawings you give me. You can't lose, sir.'

Adams nodded slowly. 'I can't, but you can. You realize if the IRS discovers you're working illegally you won't just get deported. They're a little touchy about this kind of thing!'

Marco nodded. 'I'm aware of that sir, but it's got to be this way for a coupla weeks, just till I sort other things out.' _Just till you get your Green Card, Almeida. In the meantime you got to find an apartment and buy some things for this baby!_

Adams met his steady brown eyes. 'Alright, don't say I didn't warn you. I'll give you enough drawings to cover an average working week. Normal pay applies to the legal hours.'

Marco raised his eyebrows. 'What's that supposed to mean, sir?'

'You don't expect I'll pay the same amount for the cash jobs? You'll get a dollar for each drawing.'

'Sir, it takes me around half an hour to trace something accurately,' Marco protested, meeting his boss's eyes without a hint of intimidation. 'You're giving me around two dollars an hour that way. The reason I need to work extra hours is because I really need the money.'

'Take it or leave it,' Adams shrugged.

Marco narrowed his eyes. 'I'll take it,' he agreed reluctantly.

'Great. You can start on that pile right away.' Adams actually beamed as he showed him to the door.

Marco left the office heavy hearted, aware he would not be able to afford the type of apartment he had counted on renting. _Rita won't be happy. She's never lived in a poor neighborhood in her life. She's going to be stressed and that's the last thing she needs right now. And what are you going to do about the doctor?_ He rubbed his face vigorously. _Maybe she's got health insurance for the year. Please God let her have health insurance for this year._

His next stop was at the church where Rita was christened. The priest blatantly refused to marry them. Catalina would kill him, he assured Marco. He refused to alienate the most influential family in his church. He urged Marco to try some smaller church on the outskirts of the city.

It took him the rest of the day. Around evening he found one priest who was a little less hostile than the rest. 'Tell me again, son, why this marriage is so urgent?' he inquired, sensing something.

'We got a baby due in six months,' Marco admitted, chewing his lip. 'Look padre, before you refuse, hear me out. This baby is innocent. If anyone is to blame, it's me. I take full responsibility for my actions. All I'm trying to do is fix them. I want to get married and raise this child. Please, padre, don't force us to go to a registry office. Rita wouldn't accept that. My parents wouldn't accept that.'

The priest sighed. 'You appear to have repented,' he decided. Marco nodded wordless. 'Son, have you any idea what a wedding involves?' He shook his head. 'I thought not. Now quite apart from informing the guests and getting a dress…'

'Padre, there's no one in the entire city who's willing to come as our guests, so that solves the problem,' Marco interrupted. 'And right now I'm using all the money I can get to get us an apartment, so there won't be any special dress either.'

The priest winced. 'Apart from all that there's a matter of paperwork. I'll need both your birth certificates, any baptism papers and the government requires a form from the pair of you stating that neither of you is currently married.'

'Sir, my papers are all in Mexico. I can assure you I never married anyone before,' Marco pleaded in gathering despair. 'This baby will be born by the time I get hold of that document! Can't I just hand it in later?'

'Son, that's out of my hands. If you wish to wed the mother of your child I urge you to hurry with the paperwork. Seeing you're not real popular I'll marry you the day you receive them.'

Marco left, thanking him.

He found Rita in the kitchen stirring a pot of rice with some delicious smelling sauce. Mouth watering he pulled her into his arms, kissing her forehead. 'How are you?' _That's lame, Almeida! How would she be so soon after being thrown out of her home? _Anxious eyes searched hers.

She nodded, her face composed. 'I'm okay. I made you dinner.' Her eyes refused to meet his as he lifted the lid of the pot, nodding in appreciation.

'Smells great. Listen, querida, there's something I need to ask you.' He settled beside her, removing the ring from her necklace. 'Will you put this on for me?'

Moist brown eyes met his own. 'What are you saying?' Rita breathed, determined to prevent bursting into tears.

'Will you make me the luckiest man on this whole planet and marry me?' he questioned, terrified at the possibility she might not now that the moment was upon them. Rita threw her arms about his neck sobbing aloud. Marco waited in terror, stroking her hair. 'Hey, querida, I know I'm not exactly the most desirable man you've ever met, but I promise I'll love you and this baby for the rest of our lives.' Gentle fingers lifted her face from his shirt. 'What do you say?'

'I don't deserve you,' she whispered, smiling at him through her tears. 'Marco Almeida, there's no one in the world I'd rather spend my life with. I'd _love_ to make a family with you.'

'We already have, querida,' he told her, grinning in heartfelt relief.


	43. Separation

Tony was born towards dawn five and a half months later. Despite the midwife's irritation Marco was present at the birth holding Rita's hand as he had promised. _Definitely no more children, Almeida. This is terrible. There's no way you can sit through this again!_ Seeing his baby's face sent the previous thoughts miles away.

'It's a boy,' the midwife told them handing him the baby.

Marco opened his arms and gazed at the tiny bundle in awe barely daring to breathe for fear of disturbing him. 'Hey,' he said softly, running his fingers down the baby's cheek. His magical moment was interrupted by Rita who insisted he hand over the baby at once.

'Sorry, sweetheart,' he apologized, placing the child into her arms. 'I was just looking at him. I've never seen such a cute little thing.'

Rita stroked the baby's hair, muttering sweet nothings to him. She nodded in agreement. 'He's perfect. Look at his little fingers.'

They spent the rest of the day admiring the new arrival, their isolation from family and friends the only blight on their joy. A steady stream of visitors poured into the room to admire the other babies and congratulate their mothers, their arrivals not unnoticed by Rita whose smile gradually faded.

'Hey, querida, don't take it that way,' Marco begged, nodding his head at the sleeping infant. 'Our baby's a hundred percent cuter than theirs. Smarter, too!'

'How could you possibly know that?' she questioned, slightly mollified.

'His eyes sparkle. He's been observing his surroundings. Stands to reason, too, with smart parents like us!'

His words of comfort worked. Rita giggled, placing a finger over his lips. 'Shh. You'll offend the others.'

Marco shrugged, winking at her. _Like you care, Almeida!_ He settled on the edge of the bed, her head resting on his arm. 'We should get some sleep. It was a difficult night!'

Rita giggled again. 'Look who's talking!' she exclaimed. 'What can you plead? Mental trauma?'

'Aha,' he replied, amused. 'I was terrified!'

Their rest was interrupted by the arrival of the nurse who glared at Marco. 'I must ask you to leave, sir. This is rest period! Visitors were told to leave an hour ago!'

Alarmed, he placed a finger over his lips. 'They're both sleeping. Can't I stay?' he pleaded.

His logic failed to convince the nurse, who shook her head in gathering annoyance. 'You may not. You can return in the evening.'

Her words woke Rita who blinked groggily. Marco kissed her cheek, promising to be back in the evening. 'Do you need me to bring you anything?' he whispered.

'Yeah, some more clothes for the baby.'

'You got it,' he agreed, leaving the room reluctantly. Unwilling to abandon them he lingered outside the door a moment. Once again it opened, the nurse wheeling the bassinet. 'Where are you taking my baby? He should be with his mother,' Marco protested, unable to remain silent. The baby flung an arm against the bassinet's side restlessly.

'He's supposed to be in the nursery. Goodbye, sir.'

He watched them, filled with an unexplainable sense of foreboding which refused to leave him until he retraced his steps and followed them to the nursery. The jolting of the bassinet woke the baby who started fussing. The nurse left the bassinet inside and proceeded to check the other infants. Marco tiptoed into the room and lifted his son into his arms.

'Hey, m'ijo, come to Papa,' he whispered, a finger stroking his warm cheek. _Come to Papa. _The words sounded odd though pleasant. Expertly he laid Tony's head against his shoulder as he paced the corridor describing his home in Mexico. 'I'll take you there someday,' he promised the newborn who had remained alert during his monologue. 'Abuelo and Abuela are going to be SO pleased to see you.'

The indignant nurse grabbed him as he completed his hundredth tour of the corridor. 'Sir, the baby MUST return to the nursery,' she snapped. 'It's unsafe for him out here, there could be germs!'

_You could have germs too_, he thought annoyed as she removed Tony. Having little else to do he returned to their apartment and opened the drawer they had assigned the baby, piling a handful of clean clothes into a shopping bag. Once that task was completed he glanced at his watch determined to fill the remaining hours till his permitted visit constructively. He tidied the bedroom, washed all the dishes, emptied the bin, bleached the shower and mopped the kitchen before he settled to a well deserved coffee. Sipping the bitter brew reminded him of his best friend and he picked up the phone, dialing him.

Tim arrived half an hour later laden with gifts. 'Congratulations,' he said grinning, handing Marco a bottle of tequila. 'I got this for you – I'm sure you like it. Wait till you see what I got the baby!' He handed the surprised Marco a baseball mitt, bat and ball. 'I also got a miniature Cubs t-shirt,' he said proudly.

'Tim, he's just a baby,' Marco protested, laying the gifts in the crib. 'Thanks,' he added awkwardly, glancing at his friend. 'Would you like a beer?'

'I was hoping you'd open the tequila,' Tim suggested mischievously. 'When can I see them?'

'You can visit this evening, if you're sure you wanna,' Marco told him, hunting in vain for a wine glass. 'Is it okay if I give you an ordinary glass?' he asked with an embarrassed shrug.

Tim nodded. 'Whatever you got. It's the drink that counts. Sure I wanna see them. Here's to the future Cubs player!'

Marco blinked, draining his glass. 'He might not like the game,' he suggested.

'Sure he will,' Tim protested. 'He's American, isn't he? And speaking of that, I'm gonna overstep myself here and ask how's your Green Card coming? You got it yet?'

Marco twirled the remaining tequila in his glass and shook his head. 'I handed the application in 5 months ago,' he sighed. 'Haven't heard back yet. I guess they got plenty of applicants.'

'You should've heard something by now,' Tim decided, shaking his head. 'You're not supposed to work more than a coupla hours without it. How do you manage?'

Marco rose and paced the room, his eyes on the floor. 'You don't wanna know that, my friend.' A moment later he paused and glanced at his only friend, shrugging apologetically. 'We gotta live from something too.'

'Sure you do,' Tim agreed. 'I'd start bothering them to hurry it along. You got a kid now.'

Marco nodded, taking the bottle. 'Would you like some more?'

Tim shook his head. 'Better not. I wanna give Rita her present while I'm sober. The best man can't show up drunk!'

They laughed together, recalling Marco's hesitant approach of his friend to invite him to his wedding. Tim had agreed readily enough, leaning on his bat, an eye on the game as he waited to be called. 'Sure I will. When is it?'

'Tonight,' Marco told him, eyes on the ground.

'_Tonight!_' his friend echoed, startled into forgetting the score. 'What's the hurry? Anyone would think you got a kid on the way.' Narrowing his eyes he watched his friend turn crimson and scuff his shoe in the grass. 'You DO have a kid on the way! Gee Marco, what can I say? Sure I'll come, I'd be glad to!'

They were deep into reminiscing about their first year at college when a knock at the door interrupted them. Marco sighed as he got up to answer it, shrugging at Tim's raised eyebrow. _Now what? I really haven't got any money to donate to any cause!_

A burly official held up a card for the briefest second before pushing past him to enter the tiny living room, followed by two colleagues. 'Immigration and Naturalization Services,' he said, the words echoing in Marco's brain.

Tim rose, his fingers tightening round his glass. 'What do you need?' he inquired, moving to join his friend.

'Marco Almeida, you've failed to keep to the stipulations registered on your student visa. I'm going to have to ask you to accompany us.'

Marco gazed at them in shock. 'In what way have I offended you?' he asked, the sweat trickling down his forehead.

'That's better discussed elsewhere. Let's go,' the official repeated.

'That's not good enough,' Tim interrupted. 'He's not going anywhere until you give him an explanation. He's here on a student visa and he's a student. What's wrong with that?'

'Under the terms of your visa you're required to be enrolled full-time,' the official replied in a monotonous tone.

'But sir, I changed my enrolment five months ago,' Marco protested. 'Why didn't you let me know immediately that you won't permit that? I would have changed back.' He gazed at the relentless official in despair.

'I haven't the time to argue with you, sir. Now either you accompany us voluntarily or I'll arrest you, it's your choice.'

The world spun around him as he took in the tiny apartment, his eyes resting on the empty crib through the bedroom door. 'Sir, my baby was born this morning,' he pleaded. 'Please let me sort out my visa from here. I'm not gonna run.'

The official glared at him. 'For the last time, let's move.'

Marco bowed his head, chewing his lip. 'Just lemme try and call my wife to let her know…'

A hand grabbed his elbow, propelling him to the door. 'You'll get an opportunity to call her later. Move it!'

'Tim,' he said, turning to glance at his speechless friend. 'Take that bag of stuff to Rita, she asked for it. Tell her I'll call her whenever…..whenever I get a chance. And tell her I love her,' he begged, blinking at what he had a sneaking suspicion was his final sight of the apartment.

'You got it,' Tim agreed. 'What you're doing is unnecessary,' he argued, following the group downstairs. 'This guy's got a wife and a kid and…'

'You got anymore to say?' snapped the official, turning to glare at him. 'Leave now before I call the police and have you detained for obstructing a government employee!'

'I'll go see Rita now,' Tim promised as Marco was pushed into a car. 'I'm real sorry, Marco. Don't worry, we'll sort it out.'

_I hope so_. Hot tears blinded him as he was driven away.

* * *

Tim's heart clenched as he approached the bed, his eyes on Rita. She smiled a greeting at him, her face slightly worn. 'Hi,' she said proudly. 'Come see the baby.'

Avoiding her eyes he handed her a bouquet, bending over the bassinet to examine the newborn. 'He's real cute,' he observed quietly. His markedly different demeanor puzzled her as he shifted awkwardly beside her bed.

'What's in the bag?' she asked, longing to put him at ease.

To her amazement he turned crimson, pushing it over to her. 'Marco asked me to bring it,' he muttered, clearing his throat.

Rita glanced at the baby clothes rapidly before nodding her head at the chair. 'What's going on, Tim? You can tell me, I can handle it. I'm not sick you know. Where's Marco?'

Tim shook his head sadly. 'Rita, I'm real sorry to have to tell you this today, right after the baby came.' He nodded his head at Tony, who chose that moment to stir. 'INS came to the apartment. They're deporting Marco.'

'What?' she stammered, taking a few minutes to absorb the new development. 'Why? What did he do?'

Tim repeated what he had heard, watching her pale face darken and her eyes flash. 'What's their problem? Marco completed the first three years of his degree full time. He just changed this year. Why didn't they let him know sooner if they didn't allow it? Why do they care now, why today?' Tears of rage filled her eyes. 'They're not taking him anywhere!' She pushed the blankets aside, struggling to her feet. 'Watch the baby for me would you?'

'Rita,' Tim gasped, grabbing her arm. 'You're supposed to rest. Look, you don't know where they took Marco. Where would you go? Why don't I get you a phone and you can make some inquiries. I don't know anything about babies,' he added, noting her shoulders slump in defeat.

'This baby needs a father,' she sniffed, crawling back into bed. 'Bring the phone quick, Tim.' She withdrew the baby while she waited, pressing him into her arms. 'We'll get him back,' she whispered reassuringly to the restless infant. 'I promise we'll get him back, sweetheart. We're gonna be fine.'

An hour later she lay against the pillows, defeated. Miguel, after a great deal of arguing had looked into the case, informing her that someone had tipped off the department, accusing Marco of marrying an American solely for the purpose of remaining in the country. She pressed her point in vain. Marco had practically finished his degree; they had gotten married in a hurry to do so before the birth of the child and had met with no obstructions. Who had slandered them? Miguel had insisted he was unable to divulge that piece of information. 'So they got the right to lie about us and we don't have the right to know who it was or what they said?' she hissed, disbelievingly. 'Miguel, I wanna know this minute. I'm going over there to kill…'

'That's exactly why I can't let you know, sis,' he said gently. 'You don't wanna kill her, trust me.'

'_Her_,' Rita echoed, a horrible suspicion forming. 'It was mom, right? You don't need to tell me, I already know. She swore she'd make sure he was chased from this country. What's her problem? Why can't she leave me in peace? What's she got to prove?' Her words were drowned by her sobs. 'Get him back for me, Miguel.'

Miguel sounded regretful as he explained that due to the complaint Marco had lost his student visa and was now placed in a line for spouse reunions, which took a considerable length of time to process, especially as his case was now clouded in suspicion.

'What the hell do you want from me?' she yelled at her mother, hatred making her arms shake as she held the phone to her ear. 'You had me disinherited like a criminal! I lost all my family and friends. I live in a crappy place. You can guess how we struggle for every dollar but no, that wasn't enough for you. You just can't watch us cope without you! Why did you pick today, mom? It's too weird to be a coincidence.'

'Divorce the Mexican, put the child up for adoption and it'll all stop,' Catalina told her coldly, unperturbed by her fury. 'You'll come home and we'll search for a more suitable husband…'

'Guess what, mom. That's NEVER going to happen,' Rita snapped. 'We'll do just fine, whatever sick tricks you pull.' Slamming the receiver down she picked up the terrified baby, soothing him. 'It's gonna be okay, sweetheart,' she repeated, stroking his hair as she gave way to tears_. "It's gonna be fine!" Marco's boss is behind in his payments. We got enough cash to pay the rent another two weeks and enough for a little food. After that_...

_

* * *

_

Marco paced the room unable to settle onto his bed. People slept around him in bunks while he gazed at the moon through a barred window, his heart in turmoil. Worry for Rita kept him awake as he mentally counted out the amount of cash he had in his drawer at home, reaching the gut wrenching conclusion that should his boss fail to hand her his previous two months' pay she would have nothing by the end of the month. She would be left without shelter and a tiny baby to care for. He prayed for her safety repeatedly as the eternal night crept by. They came for him shortly after breakfast. His pleas to use the phone to call his wife were ignored as he was marshaled onto a bus. Marco barely noticed his fellow passengers as he gazed out of the window, nose pressed against the glass, swallowing his tears. They reached Laredo shortly after midnight on the second day of travel, where a customs official stamped his passport. The Border Patrol official glared at the entire group once their paperwork was completed.

'You're welcome to lodge any applications at the nearest U.S. consulate,' he informed them coldly. 'Until such time as you receive legal paperwork, don't attempt to return to this country!'

The journey to the Mexican customs post was the slowest he had ever undertaken. A disinterested official stamped his passport and waved him through. With nothing but the clothes he wore and three dollars in his pocket Marco wandered the town of Nuevo Laredo, stretching out on a bench to await the sunrise. Sheer discomfort kept him awake and he changed his dollars to pesos the moment the bank opened. He raced across the street to a phone booth and attempted to call Rita but the hospital insisted she had been discharged while a mechanical voice informed him his home number had been disconnected. _Oh God. Adams hasn't paid her my wages and she's struggling._

Unable to call his parents as they lacked a phone he devoted the morning to the task of filling in a pile of forms at the U.S. Consulate, none of which could be lodged without supporting paperwork. In despair he called Tim, begging him to let her know he was safe in Mexico and to ask her to send his birth certificate and college results to his parents' address as he was unable to hand in any forms without them. After purchasing a loaf of bread and a school bag, into which he stuffed the completed forms he had enough to buy himself a bus ticket as far as Esmeralda.

The bus proved hot and uncomfortable, an assortment of people crammed in beside him. Heart numb he was unable to feel his usual joy at the idea of being at home, aware he had lost all he held dear. Each turn of the wheel took him further from Rita and the baby he had seen for a mere handful of hours. Lacking any further money he was forced to complete the final 500 miles to his parents' house on foot. Worn out both physically and mentally he set out in the evening with the remaining half of his loaf and a bottle of water, curling up a few feet from the highway around 3:00 A.M.

Thirst woke him the morning of the following day. He ran his fingers through his hair and returned to the highway, determined to reach his home as soon as possible to collect the paperwork he hoped awaited him. Cars raced past coating him in dust as he trudged along filled with bitterness against the person who had succeeded in ruining not only his life but his family's with it.

In despair he called Tim, begging him to let Rita know he would be home in the next few days. Face pressed against the phone booth he listened to an update on her health, cheering slightly to hear she appeared fine. As the sun sank behind some buildings he set off further along the highway, heading home.

* * *

Rita took a handful of copies of Marco's paperwork before sending it registered. The baby lay in the stroller observing events with large round eyes unusually well behaved, the activity at the busy post office occupying him while his mother finished. 'We're done, sweetheart,' she told him, explaining all her actions, a habit she had formed since the dismal news had reached her. 'We've sent Papa his papers. Now he'll be able to get his visa and he'll come back to us.'

Tony opened his mouth to howl as they left the post office emerging into an icy wind. Rita's attempts to tuck his blankets round him failed to cheer him. 'It's okay, sweetie, we're going home,' she said tiredly, struggling to get the stroller onto the bus. _Home indeed, Rita! Not for much longer, the way things are going._ She hugged him to her as she recalled hours of lying on the empty bed weeping after he fell asleep.

The apartment appeared drab and airless as she laid the handful of necessary items she had purchased into the fridge, an eye on the baby who slept peacefully in his crib, fingers in his mouth. _You need a name, sweetie._ She gave up on the idea of a warm tea, opting to lie onto the empty bed and shut her eyes instead. The dozen boy names she had planned appeared inadequate as she considered her tiny child. _You look like your father, sweetheart. Should I name you after him?_ 'Marco' she said softly, staring at the sleeping child. _No, it's not right. It's admitting defeat, and you're not defeated yet. He's coming back!_ The desire to give the baby a little of his father's identity persisted. She shut her eyes, recalling the time she had seized his passport before their trip to the taxation department.

"_Marco Tomas Antonio Almeida," she read. "My father is Tomas, and my eldest brother was Antonio. He got a fever when he was a baby and died…My parents say I look exactly like him. Mama wanted to name me Antonio but Papa said it was bad luck."_

Rita rolled over and laid the sleeping infant beside her. 'Tony,' she said quietly studying his face. The name suited him, she decided. 'Tony,' she said again, louder and the baby stirred. She settled him in the crook of her arm, drew the blanket over them and fell asleep worn out from the relentless worry.

* * *

Marco pushed his parents' door open and tiptoed inside. Voices drifted over to him from upstairs. Weary beyond words, he sank onto the nearest chair and shut his eyes resting his head comfortably against the soft surface. A horrified gasp woke him moment later.

'M'ijo, what are you doing here? What's wrong?' his father cried.

He forced his eyes open, taking in the shabby appearance the previous four days on the road had stamped on him, from his dusty t-shirt to his torn jeans, all the way to his blistered bare feet. Exhausted eyes met his father's.

'I'll start the bath,' his mother whispered, placing a kiss on his cheek. 'M'ijo, you look awful. Thank God you're home!' She hugged him, wiping her tears away.

He explained the dismal events as best he was able as he picked through his dinner, wanting only to curl up in bed and sleep for the rest of his life. _You done great, Almeida! You wasted three and half years, you got no job, no degree, no hope of getting anything…The money you left Rita is gonna run out real soon…_A tear slid into his soup, noticed by both parents.

'M'ijo…'

'I gotta go back tomorrow,' he decided. 'Rita's going to need money. I'll hand these applications in now that I've got everything and I'll go. I might be able to get some more hours tracing or find some agricultural work…'

'Listen to me carefully Marco,' his father interrupted, laying down his fork. 'If you go back now, illegally, and they catch you, you'll be in real trouble! Wait till your application is approved. In the meantime, why don't we send Rita a ticket to come join us? We got enough food for two more.'

Marco choked back his tears, gazing from one to the other.

'He's right, m'ijo,' his mother agreed. 'It'll only be for a short while, till your paperwork is done. And we're both real keen to meet her.'

'And the baby,' his father added, eyeing him.

'You're not mad, Papa?' he inquired, a little calmer at the thought of being reunited with them in the next few weeks.

'About my newest grandson - no. About his early arrival….We'll discuss that tomorrow.' His stern tone failed to intimidate Marco who nodded humbly.

'Gracias,' he told them, hugging them goodnight as he forced himself upstairs and into his warm bed.


	44. Together In Mexico

A blast of warm summer air hit Rita as she disembarked at the airport in Chihuahua, Tony in her arms. She struggled down the stairs with two pieces of hand luggage on her shoulders, collected their two suitcases into which she had packed their entire wardrobe and entered the terminal searching the room for Marco.

'Querida,' he cried, swinging her into his arms. 'I missed you,' he whispered repeatedly into her hair. Relief filled him as he pressed her closer to him unwilling to release her lest one of them disappear.

'I missed you too,' she sniffed, placing Tony in one arm and hugging him tightly with the other. 'It's been tough. We got evicted two days ago.'

Marco rubbed his face, humiliation burning his cheeks. 'I'm so sorry, princess. I arranged your ticket as soon as I could. Where did you go?'

'An old friend of my father's,' she explained, handing Tony to him. 'You remember that police captain? He gave us a room and swore he wouldn't let my mother know. Actually, he gave us the master bedroom and he moved out to the guest room as there was no crib for the baby. We kinda took over his house. He says hi!'

Anxious eyes examined her face before he nodded. _She's not quite ready to dump you yet, Almeida! Better pull yourself together real fast or she'll run for her life, though._ Gentle fingers stroked the baby's warm cheek. 'You named him yet?'

'He's called Antonio,' she told him, watching his eyes fill with tears as he repeated the name. 'You like it?'

'Aha,' he agreed, squeezing her hand reassuringly. 'I love it! Antonio.' He stroked the baby's hair gently. 'God I missed him. I was so scared something would happen and I'd never see you two again.' His eyes moistened as he kissed the child who blinked groggily at him.

'Ready to go?' Rita inquired softly; terrified she would break down and weep.

He nodded. 'Sí. Sweetheart, I got my father's pick-up truck. We haven't got a car. It's not the most comfortable thing in the world but it'll get us there.' He took the hand luggage from her, slinging it over his shoulders before he stooped to collect the suitcases.

Rita followed him across the parking lot, clutching Tony tighter as she caught sight of the battered truck. Marco glanced at her anxiously as he placed the suitcases in the back. 'It's the only thing we got, querida,' he told her, unlocking the door.

'It's fine,' Rita agreed, her mouth dry. She allowed him to help her up and she settled the restless baby closer to her. Marco started the engine, bending over to kiss her. She clung to him, beads of sweat trickling down her forehead.

'They're gonna love you,' he told her gently, sensing her anxiety. 'They've talked of nothing besides meeting you and the baby since my return.' The engine coughed twice and died. Unperturbed, he turned it on again. 'It's okay, sweetheart. Once it gets going it won't stop, it just hates starting. We're gonna need a new battery.'

'Why don't you get one from here?' she demanded, puzzled. 'It's a large place.'

Marco avoided her gaze as he backed the truck out of its spot. 'We'll get one soon.' _Your ticket took the very last of our savings, sweetheart. None of us got another peso and we still owe Tio Pedro 200 dollars. This battery will just have to do for a bit longer._ 'It'll take four hours to get home,' he explained as they entered a narrow road. 'I brought us lunch and plenty of water. Let me know when you're hungry.'

She nodded, placing her hand in his. Marco grinned at her, driving one handed, explaining features of the terrain they crossed. Several farms petered away engulfed by arid dryness, leaving them crossing stretches of land covered by low shrubs with the occasional cactus. 'I almost feel like we're in the Wild West,' she admitted, awestruck at the isolation.

Marco chuckled, squeezing her hand. 'You're fine, querida.'

They stopped for lunch in the shade of a large rock. Rita fed and changed the baby before she ate her tacos snuggled deep into his arms. Marco munched in peace for the first time since his deportation. Breathing in the warm air he leaned against the rock, wiping a crumb from her lips. 'I'm so sorry, Rita,' he apologized. 'If you gimme another chance, I promise I'll get a job and somehow complete this degree and take better care of you and Tony.' Hearing no response he bit his lip, tilting her chin gently with two fingers. 'You got every right to be mad at me, sweetheart.'

She shook her head, tears forming in her eyes.

'Rita, you don't need to cry anymore. I promise I'll do better,' he assured her in alarm. He kicked himself mentally, picturing how alien the surroundings must seem to her. 'I'm so sorry,' he repeated.

'No, Marco, it's not your fault,' she began, bundling the uneaten food back into the truck.

'Sure it is,' he protested, throwing the rug in the back. 'I should've checked whether I was permitted to go part time.'

'Marco, stop,' she insisted, placing a finger on his lips. 'Promise you won't just abandon me right here if I tell you something?'

_This is gonna be real bad, Almeida. Wonder what happened now?_ 'You should know I'd never do that,' he assured her.

'My mom reported you,' Rita admitted, her eyes on the blazing sand. 'No one cared about your enrolment before she pointed it out. _I'm_ the one who's sorry. It's my fault you got deported. Will you ever forgive me?'

The breath caught in his throat as he considered her words. Unconsciously his fists clenched at his sides as he threw an empty water bottle beside the suitcases refusing to look at her. _It figures. She's hated you from the moment she heard of you. She's finally hounded you out of the country, but lost her daughter and grandson in the process._

'Marco,' she said in a small voice, tugging at his t-shirt. 'I'll make it up to you somehow, I promise. When Tony's a little older I'll find a job and put him in day care and…'

'You'll do nothing of the sort,' he cried, horrified. 'A child's place is home with its mother!'

'But we're gonna be at least six months behind…'

'So we'll be six months behind,' he replied, turning to face her. 'And if we're a year behind, or even two, it won't change anything. Tony's safest at home with you. Come here.' He pulled her into his arms, stroking her hair. 'You got yourself a useless husband and a real unpleasant mother, querida. Between us, we're really ruining your life!'

'You're the only good thing I got left,' she assured him, hugging him tightly. 'I'm never leaving you again, Marco, not for a minute.'

He laughed, her words warming his heart. 'Sure you will, when you get hot in the sun,' he said cryptically. 'Sweetheart, my parents are getting older. Normally my older brothers help out on the farm but they got their own lands and families, so right now I'm their laborer.' He grinned at her in genuine amusement. 'Your mother was right after all, princess. You're married to a peasant, though a literate one! And none of us have fleas!'

Rita giggled, shaking her head at him. 'It's fine with me,' she assured him. 'Ah, will all your family be working outside?'

Marco nodded, an eye on the deteriorating road. 'Aha. Everything's about ready to be collected now. My mom doesn't do as much as she's got her own work inside but she helps out too whenever she's got a moment.'

Rita chewed her lip in alarm. The closest she had come to any kind of agricultural work was noting a few laborers working the fields she drove past. Her heart sank. She was reduced to relying on the charity of a couple whose son's life had been ruined by her and she was useless on top of it all. She clutched Tony tighter against her.

'You've stopped chatting, querida,' he said lightly, sensing her unease. 'Want to tell me what's wrong?'

'Ah, I done a little weeding a few times,' she began hesitantly. 'Not real often as we got a gardener. I've never even seen vegetables in the ground.'

'And you're worried my parents will be annoyed,' he guessed. 'Sweetheart, nobody's expecting you to do anything. You got a baby; you got more than enough work watching him.'

She glanced at him in relief, uncertain whether to believe him. All too soon the journey ended and they turned onto an ill maintained track amid a wheat field. 'This land is my father's,' Marco explained, wishing he could relax her. 'You'll see the house soon. It's a lot smaller than yours but it's well built. You'll love it.' He desperately hoped so as he studied her face, noting her eyes widen at the sight of the stone house.

'It's not small,' she said, relieved.

He shook his head. 'No. My family planned on staying here so they built a good home. Back in those days it was about as far from authority as it was possible to get. We're not like you, honey. We're not into joining the diplomatic service, getting ourselves noticed. My family prefers to live in peace and hopefully be ignored.'

Rita grinned in wonder at the idea. 'You write to no one and you hope no one writes to you?' she guessed.

'Something like that, sí. You should see my father's reaction whenever he receives an official looking letter. He treats the envelope as thought it's some poisonous scorpion. He even promised Tio Naldo, the mailman some money if he never brings official letters here again!'

Rita gave a weak grin while he held her in his arms stroking her hair. He searched for something further to amuse her as he noted the house was temporarily abandoned. 'When I was about seven I figured I'd help him. I collected a bag of nails from the shed and put it out near the mailbox and he got his tires slashed. You know what? My father wasn't grateful! It took him months to pay for the damage.' Rita giggled harder.

Marco opened the door and helped her out with the baby, collecting their bags. 'Come on,' he encouraged, leading her up the two steps to a verandah which ran the length of the dwelling. 'Door's this way.'

She entered a large tiled room, the end of which served as a meals area. A playpen stood in the center of the room with bags of toys scattered about. 'My sister's husband left,' Marco explained, picking his way over them. 'She came home with her kids. Jose is three and Pedro is Tony's age.'

'I'm real sorry,' Rita muttered, following him upstairs.

'Don't be, he was an asshole! She's much better off without him, believe me.'

'So she'll stay till she finds a place?' Rita guessed, peering down from the top of the landing.

Marco's eyes widened. 'She's come home, querida. Papa's given her the upstairs part of the house. We got four rooms there. Right now we're going to be using one, my old bedroom. Come in.'

She entered shyly, noting a collection of trains and trucks in a box with a much loved bear on the bed. Marco winced, removing it. 'My mother must have put it out for the baby,' he muttered, blushing as she threw him a doubtful look.

'You telling me that's not yours, Marco Almeida?' she pressed.

Marco examined every corner of the room bar her as he fidgeted. 'It was mine,' he admitted reluctantly, placing the bear carefully on a chair. 'It's Tony's now.'

Footsteps from below interrupted them, indicating that her dreaded introduction to his parents had approached. Heart beating faster she reached for the baby, clutching him in one arm while clinging to Marco with the other. He led her downstairs, pulling her forward. 'Mama, Papa, this is Rita,' he said, eyes shining with pride. 'Rita, these are my parents.'

A middle aged couple with warm eyes smiled back at him, as enchanted by her appearance as he had been.

'Thank you for inviting us,' she began, her heart pounding. 'Especially after I managed to completely ruin your son's life.'

They spoke at once, insisting she had done nothing wrong. 'M'ija, Marco is my most intelligent son. He's made his own decisions for a long time now and most of them are sound. Now that we've met, I agree with him on his choice of wife. You're real welcome, Rita.'

Rita blinked back her tears as Marco's mother hugged her, while his father reached to take the baby from her. 'And this must be the little angel,' he cried enthusiastically at the baby who opened his eyes for the briefest moment to examine him before falling asleep. 'He looks sleepy.'

'He should be,' Rita agreed. 'He yelled all the way from Chicago. 'Little angel' isn't the word any of the passengers on the planes would use, trust me!'

'Of course he was upset in the air, m'ija, what do you expect? It was much too noisy for such little ears,' the old man cried, beginning his lifelong support of Tony's every action. 'Would you trust me enough to let me walk with him a bit?'

'Sure,' she agreed, charmed by the old man's delight with her son.

'Marco, we're having chicken tonight,' his mother interrupted. 'I want a little time to chat with Rita, so if you could…'

'I'm on my way,' he agreed, kissing Rita on the forehead. 'I won't be long, querida.'

'I didn't see any town nearby,' she began, confused. 'Where are you getting the chicken from?'

'There's dozens of places,' he assured her, hurrying through the door. Rita followed her mother-in-law into a dim living room, relieved the blinds were opened a crack and sat on the couch she was pointed to, racking her brains as to which part of the invitation to 'tell me all about yourself,' she should respond to. To her relief Tony's howls reached their ears half an hour later, moments after she began describing her swimming lessons giving her a welcome escape. She rushed upstairs and grabbed him from the bed covering his face in kisses.

'You haven't a clue where you are, sweetheart,' she guessed, soothing him. 'We're in your father's house. Let mommy take you outside to the verandah.' She carried him out and settled on a swinging sofa, humming a lullaby as they rocked together when she caught sight of what appeared to be a headless chicken, blood squirting from its neck dancing along the lawn. Her horrified shriek brought both her mother-in-law from the kitchen and Marco from the shed.

'It's okay, querida; I just cut her head off. They all run for a little while, they gotta get it out of their legs,' he explained, grabbing the terrified baby before she could drop him. Tony was bundled into the house by a dubious grandmother while Marco hastened to wash his hands and settled beside her, stroking her hair. 'Sweetheart, it's fine, I promise. Look, it's stopped now. I gotta hang it upside down a bit to drain the blood before I can remove the intestines,' he explained, hanging the chicken on a hook. 'I pluck the feathers outside too,' he told her, squeezing her trembling hand. 'My mother's from Hermosillo and they never had hens, so I get to do that job as well.'

'I'm not hungry,' Rita groaned when her voice returned. 'Don't you get anything from a store round here?'

'Store sells things for money, querida,' he said gently, settling her on his knee. 'We don't have a great deal of it.' He stroked her hair rhythmically in silence till he felt her shaking subside. 'Wanna come watch me disembowel it?' he asked lightly, pulling her from the couch. 'Come on - for someone who studied nursing it should be real educational.'

'I was trained to save lives, not disembowel patients,' she retorted, a little of her humor returning. Despite herself she was unable to resist watching while he made a neat incision reached inside and withdrew the intestines together with the lungs, throwing it aside for the dog. 'What about the feathers?' she pressed.

He nodded, proud to show off his skills. 'I'll get some boiling water, it helps to loosen them.'

By the end of the second month Rita felt as though she knew all about subsistence agriculture. As far as she could tell, nothing was wasted. Whatever the Almeidas didn't eat themselves was handed over to neighbors. She saw little of Marco as he worked in the fields from dawn till dusk, oftentimes missing his siesta. He would return home suntanned and exhausted, curling into her arms. By the second month she left Tony for a few hours with his grandmother and accompanied him, resolved to spend a little time with him to chat. The day opened her eyes to a different interpretation of the meaning of the word 'busy.'

Marco handed her a bucket and told her to collect the ripe tomatoes, working beside her in the watermelon field. She watched as he crawled along, parting the leaves and pulling the ripe fruit, tossing it onto his wheelbarrow. Once it was too full to contain a single extra melon he would trudge over to the cellar and deposit them outside the door before returning on a run. He ignored her offers to help him, assuring her it was men's work.

There were peas, beans and lentils, agave, a small patch of potatoes, lettuce, cabbage and the backbreaking pumpkin to collect all of which fell to Marco as he gave his father the 'lighter' task of picking the fruit. T-shirt soaked to his skin he stacked the fruits of his labor in the deep cellar. Rita struggled to help him throw the carrots and potatoes into vast wooden containers in gathering dismay. Looking at his smudged face and filthy hands she had a horrible fear he would elect to remain.

Sensing her preoccupation he pulled her closer to him in the bath that evening, rubbing her shoulders with lavender soap. 'Wanna tell me about it, querida?' he questioned.

She shook her head, wishing the scalding water would ease her stiff muscles. Marco moved to face her, narrowing his eyes.

'We don't seem to spend anymore time together,' she began, twisting strands of hair through her fingers. 'There are so many people here, your parents, your sister, the kids…' She paused and he nodded, aware of her dislike of his sister. 'We haven't been anywhere together alone since I arrived…' Tears flooded her eyes as he pulled her into a hug.

'I'm sorry, Rita. You came at the busiest time. Things will settle a bit soon, I promise. I'll take you with me to the Sierra Madres to collect wood. We'll have to spend the night,' he promised, grinning at her. 'Alone out there, you feel like you're on top of the world.'

'Sounds great,' she sniffed.

'And tomorrow we'll go for a walk in the evening,' he decided, relieved to see a smile on her face. 'I'll show you our very own stream. We can follow it.'

The following evening proved sultry. Guiltily she kissed Tony goodbye, watching him bounced around on his grandfather's knees and followed Marco across the familiar fields to the stream. Waist deep water gurgled past them and he stripped, nodding his head at her. 'It's clean round here. Join me.'

'I didn't bring my bathers,' she sighed, envying him the cool water.

Marco joined her on the bank, removing her clothes. 'You see anyone else round here, sweetheart? Come on. I used to go to school this way, to the village school when I was young,' he told her, leading her into the water. 'Sometimes the temptation to stop and play here for the day proved irresistible and I just stayed.'

Rita giggled in joy, splashing him. He splashed her back at once, laughing.

'Rosa could hardly wait to get home to tell Papa,' he sighed.

'Oh no, she didn't,' Rita cried, convinced that his sister, whom she was beginning to rather uncharitably consider a bitch would have acted precisely that way.

'Sure she did. She had this habit of sitting on his knees and telling him everything I'd done that day at school,' he remembered. 'There were few kids so we had one teacher for all six grades and she saw everything I was doing. I was being silly, I pushed someone, I was late, I didn't share the paint, I wasn't listening or I was talking too much! And Papa had this terrifying way of beckoning with one finger,' he demonstrated, rolling a finger round pointing it at her. 'That meant he wanted me right away for another little 'talk.''

'And you never told her to shut-up?' she asked.

'I told her once that if she told Papa about a fight after school I'd kill her dolls,' he told her while she pressed a hand over her mouth to contain her laughter. 'Of course she told him all about it the moment she got home and I got a belting, so that evening I got ALL her dolls, every one of 'em and threw the whole lot down the well. There was one slight problem I'd overlooked. Plastic floats on water.'

Rita laughed merrily.

'Yeah, you can picture it. There they were, like real drowned people, floating with their faces turned upwards, and they absolutely refused to sink, not even when I threw a few stones after them. And that same day the pump broke down so Papa went to fetch water in a bucket and he saw them all!'

'Oh,' Rita whispered.

He nodded wordless.

They continued their walk, Rita leading the way. The evening proved a success, restoring her faith in the future. 'We gotta do this every night,' Marco decided as they returned. 'I'd almost forgotten what a lot of fun we have together. I love you, Rita.'

She opened her lips to him, returning his passionate kiss. 'I love you too, Marco. I just hope you haven't forgotten what you learned at college,' she whispered, voicing her greatest fears.

'Querida, come here,' he said gently, tilting her chin upwards. 'I'm missing six months from an architecture degree, a degree I fully intend to complete one way or the other. I love to come home and help out but it's not what I wanna do all my life. Let me show you something. You'll see that I'm thinking about our future.'

She nodded intrigued, following him to a small cellar on their property. To her surprise he produced a key and unlocked the door. Wondering what could be so important it needed a lock when the house was invariably left open she followed him down the stairs, staring in wonder at a row of barrels and tubes. 'Wine,' he told her, nodding his head at a barrel. 'Tequila,' he muttered, pointing to the rest.

'Isn't that illegal?' she whispered, the breath catching her throat.

'Yeah, but we need money. The truck's not going anywhere without a new battery and I'm trying to save a bit to pay for the last six months I'm missing. I lost my funding when I was deported,' he reminded her. 'Rita, we're gonna make it. I promised you a house in the suburbs and we'll get one. By the time my Green Card comes I'll have about enough to finish the degree.'

'What if you're caught?' she groaned, throwing her arms round him.

'By whom? The only policeman we got is married to my cousin. We always take him a coupla bottles. He won't say anything. Everyone's making the stuff. I started helping Papa when I was around 15.'

'So where do you sell it?' she breathed.

'To a guy in Chihuahua who bottles it and exports it to the…' he paused awkwardly.

'To the States,' she finished.

He nodded. 'Yeah. Rita, it's good quality, trust me. We drink it ourselves and he always tastes it before he pays us.' Moving past her he took a bottle from a shelf, pouring the contents into two glasses. 'To the future,' he said, clinking glasses with her.

'To the future,' she said, wishing silently for his Green Card and several more babies.


	45. The Wait

The humid summer drew to an end followed by a warm dry autumn, the grass on the lawn withering into brown stubs. Winter followed according to the calendar, not that she would ever have guessed the season without it. Apart from not feeling faint due to the heat there was no change. The dry season had arrived, the Almeidas explained. An apt description, she thought grimly as she stared into the dried out stream, Tony in her arms. 'No more water, sweetheart,' she sighed, turning back regretfully.

Walking through a dry field she caught sight of Marco fixing the cellar's roof, hammering a nail with expert precision, a mouthful of extra nails preventing him from yelling a greeting. She waved as she passed, setting Tony down in relief the moment she entered the house. He crawled over to the toys while she rushed upstairs to braid her hair. It appeared lifeless and tangled, the ends split due to the harsh sunshine. Disgruntled she threw the brush on the bed. _How much longer can it take to sort out one Green Card? We've been here six months. Six months! Six months of practically no TV, no privacy, no one to speak to who has a clue what you're talking about except for Marco and he's never around anyway, and that bitch Rosa ready to point out your every mistake to the entire gathering every evening. Dammit! _The lack of privacy bothered her more than the lack of TV if she was absolutely honest. Seizing the hairbrush and pulling it forcibly through her hair she recalled the previous night in fury. Just as usual Marco had pulled her into his arms, kissing her entire body before spreading her legs. Again and again he had pushed her over the edge, their gasps mercifully unheard by the baby who slept in his crib less than a foot away. They had showered together afterwards, rubbing soap over each other, Marco returning to bed sooner worn out by the day's work. She had lingered another few minutes in the steam, throwing a towel over herself as she opened the door, bumping into Rosa as she entered the hall.

'Busy night!' Rosa remarked, a smirk on her face. Shamed into silence Rita clutched the towel tighter. 'Sounds like my brother can do something right, at any rate! From the way you two carry on, I'll be having another nephew real soon. Goodnight!' She had muttered something incoherent and rushed into the bedroom, burying herself under the covers.

Furiously she pulled the brush through another tangle, dreading the next encounter with her sister-in-law.

Tony's cries caused the hairbrush to fly from her fingers as she rushed to his aid, unsurprised to discover his cousin Pedro, six months his senior tugging a toy from his hands. 'Gently,' she said, longing to slap him. 'He's smaller than you.' Pedro ignored her, yanking a plastic boat from Tony with such force that he fell to the ground.

'Sweetheart,' Rita began, reaching towards him when he sat up alone, rubbing his head. His eyes narrowed in a similar fashion to Marco's, reminding her alarmingly of the night in the park. _Forget that, Rita, you're really losing it. You're talking about a seven month old!_ The next moment her baby set off, crawling determinedly across the tiles to where Pedro appeared engaged in the toy box's remaining contents, sinking his teeth into his cousin's hand.

Rita was unable to mask a grin as she removed him, noting the deep marks dotting the howling Pedro's arm. 'Mustn't bite, sweetheart,' she admonished, returning him to the room's other box. 'Find something to play with in there.' Tony settled down happily, apparently having forgotten about the altercation. A host of toys flew around him as he struggled to his feet, leaning inside. Seeing he was safe enough she hurried outdoors to collect their washing. Tony's renewed howling caused her to leave the basket half full as she rushed back. She found him on the floor beside the box, tears pouring from his eyes as he rubbed his leg. Lifting him into her arms she pried his fingers away, noting a red hand mark. Incensed, she glared at Rosa who held Pedro.

'I can't believe you hit Tony,' she began, so furious her fists clenched.

'He had it coming,' Rosa retorted, hushing Pedro. 'You should teach him not to bite.'

'You should teach Pedro not to push him over all the time,' Rita snapped. 'And don't touch him again! He's _my_ son!' Too angry to say more she carried Tony outside, the washing abandoned as she ran to find Marco.

'You're overreacting, querida,' he told her, attempting to hug her. Glaring at him she thrust Tony into his arms.

'Look at that! She hit him real hard! He's just a baby!'

'I'll talk to her, sweetheart, like I said,' Marco repeated patiently, never having experienced his wife's maternal instincts aroused to such an extent. 'But really, he bit Pedro, and that was wrong. He bit _me_ last night and I can tell you it hurt…'

'He's just getting his teeth, he needs to bite,' Rita snapped, unwilling to listen. 'And he only nipped you yesterday. Pedro had it coming, he pushed him!'

'Querida, like I said…'

'You'll do nothing!' she snapped, startling herself with her renewed rage. 'Well I'm warning you, Marco Almeida, I'm not going to tolerate anyone hurting Tony. If your sister hits him again I'll deal with her myself…'

Marco blinked in bewilderment. 'Princess, I'm going to speak to her right now,' he said soothingly, hating the need to do so. 'And then I was going to have to go to town for some more nails. Why don't we all go, the three of us? We'll have a coffee, maybe get Tony an ice-cream? You get his stroller.'

Mollified, she nodded. The tiny pueblo was hardly an exciting place, but it represented a slight escape from Rosa, a woman she genuinely hated. The coffee they made in the one and only café was excellent and there was a certain cake she was fond of, and all of that paled into insignificance compared to the joy of seeing Tony on his stool, struggling with an ice-cream. 'Have we got enough for all that?' she questioned wearily.

Marco nodded. 'I sold plenty of tequila last week,' he muttered, aware of her dislike of their clandestine activities. 'We got cash.'

Rita refused to reply, frowning at him instead as she collected the stroller and laid it into the back of the pick-up. She placed Tony in the baby swing his doting grandfather had constructed and pushed him singing the ABC song quietly till Marco emerged red-faced. 'Got anywhere?'

'She promised to tell me if Tony was naughty again,' he said, evading her eyes.

'And she said lots of bad stuff about me?' Rita guessed.

Marco sighed as he started the engine. 'Let it go, sweetheart. We're going to have a fantastic morning in town, and next week we'll go collect firewood in the mountains. We'll take Tony, he'll love it.'

Rita grinned, squeezing the baby in her arms. 'Heard that, pet? We're going camping in the mountains. Papa can collect wood and you and I will check out some disgusting insects and pretty birds and take _loads_ of photos!'

The plaza appeared busy as they parked in front of the tiny store. They went inside hand in hand, Marco pushing the stroller. Rita soon tired of admiring various sized nails and found herself a book instead, dropping it into the shopping basket with an innocent grin. 'You _do_ wanna buy me a present, Marco!'

'I do,' he agreed, gravely. 'Looks like I've already chosen one. Let's get our coffees.' He dumped the shopping in the truck and they crossed the square, entering a café situated directly beside a bar. 'You having your usual cream cake?' he inquired and she nodded, dragging over a stool.

'Sit up here, sweetie. Papa will get you an ice-cream.' Both doting parents watched Tony grab his cone, pressing his nose into the vanilla. 'Don't clean him up yet,' Rita begged, laying a restraining hand on Marco's arm. 'He's having such fun.'

'Right, till he wipes it all in me,' he groused, grinning at his son. 'You know something, Rita. We made an incredibly cute child.'

She nodded, kissing Tony's head. 'I know. He's growing too fast though. Yesterday he pulled himself up hanging on the back of a chair. Soon he won't even be a baby anymore.' A sigh escaped her and Marco raised his eyebrows.

'Just lemme know when you think he's ready for a sister,' he told her mischievously.

Rita grinned back surprised by the overwhelming love she felt for him. 'Like your sister said, the way we're going, it shouldn't take too long.'

Marco's cheeks turned crimson as he absentmindedly added a second spoonful of sugar to his coffee. 'She said that? I am so sorry, querida…'

'I called the consulate,' Rita cut in, handing Tony her spoon. 'They said the usual stuff; your application's moving ahead in the line.' They avoided each other's gaze, focusing on their son instead as he clasped the spoon in his fist and drummed on the table.

'Tony, that's enough,' Marco admonished, removing it. 'Why don't you finish your ice-cream? It's starting to melt.' Tony's eyes widened and he pointed indignantly to the confiscated spoon. 'No m'ijo, you're deafening the other customers. I completed another essay last night,' he said, lifting the baby onto his knees and returning the spoon, whereupon Tony resumed his interrupted drumming. 'I only got three more assignments to complete, so when I reenroll I'll just hand them all in.'

Rita's grin split her face as she bent over Tony to kiss Marco, getting ice-cream on her hair. 'I'm so proud,' she began, raising her voice to yell across the ever more enthusiastic drumming. 'It's gonna work out fine, just…'

Marco removed the spoon, setting the baby on the ground. 'That's enough, Antonio. I'd like a chance to speak to your mommy! What were you saying, princess?'

'I said it seems…' Rita began, cut off by the spine chilling squeak of the stool dragged across the tiles. 'Tony, stop that.'

Tony glanced at his parents for a second before he resumed the music. 'Tony!' they snapped simultaneously. 'Look, why don't you sit on mommy's knee and have some cake,' Rita decided, lifting the wriggling baby. 'Open your mouth, honey.'

Tony tried the cream cake, spitting it directly into her saucer while he pulled a face. 'No.'

'Did you hear that, Marco?' she cried in delight. 'He said something. He said 'no.''

'I heard,' Marco agreed, just as impressed. 'We're overdue for a talk about manners, m'ijo! If you try something, you must swallow it!' He set Tony back on the ground, shaking his head as the baby returned to the stool. 'Oh no.' The squeaking resumed and Rita finished her cake in two bites.

'I'm done. Why don't we go for a walk instead? Tony loves to see the kids at the school.'

Marco nodded and paid while Rita struggled with bundling the outraged Tony into his stroller. 'We're going, honey. You'll get to watch the kids playing ball. I'm amazed no one complained about the noise,' she finished as Marco joined her.

He stared at her in surprise. 'Why would they? They all got kids! There's enough silence in the grave! Right now we're all alive. Which way did you want to walk?' _At least we're not afraid to show we're alive._

_These people thrive on noise! You grew up convinced your family was loud, well, they'd be among the quietest ones round here!_

'And there he is,' a drunken voice booed from the bar interrupting her daydream, and a muscular man staggered out, pointing to Marco. 'Almeida himself!'

'Marco, let's go,' Rita begged, uneasily. The drunk held his ground breathing a mixture of beer and tequila onto them. Marco nodded, starting the stroller.

'I'm surprised to see your face in town, Almeida! Normally we see your sister!' Loud hoots greeted his sentence while a red haze enveloped him.

'You got something to say?' he forced out, his eyes narrowed to tiny slits. Rita grabbed his arm in alarm, noting the muscles were hard as rock.

_Oh please let these troublemakers go_, she prayed. _Don't let them say anything about that bitch or he'll go nuts._

_Don't you dare say anymore, or it'll be the last thing you ever say._ He waited a second longer before he responded to his wife's frantic tugging on his arm. Chewing his lip he guided the stroller round the drunk.

'We all got something to say!' the man slurred, amid bellowing laughter. 'Everyone knows Rosa, knows her real well. Is there anyone here who doesn't know Rosa? She got real good….'

'Alright, I warned you,' Marco snapped. 'Nobody insults my sister. You're answering for your lies right now!'

'Marco, are you crazy?' Rita groaned in disbelief as her highly educated, reliable husband changed into a character from a third rate movie. 'He's a bastard, but it's probably all true and…'

'Sweetheart, let me go,' he insisted, turning to face her. 'You don't allow this kinda insult to pass unanswered!'

'You're gonna get killed,' she protested, trying in vain to reason with him. 'He's got two guns.'

_She's right, Almeida, he's got them both and he's the best shot in town! The last coupla graves contain his victims!_ He glanced at his distressed wife and squeezed her hand, relived she was unaware of his opponent's reputation. _You'd be missing a brain before you could so much as take aim!_ 'I fight like a man, Diego,' he snapped, fury overcoming his natural disinclination to attack the human gorilla before him. 'I can put you in the grave with my fists alone.'

'Uuuu,' hissed the drunken crowd that had by now abandoned the bar for the plaza, every man present including the bartender who watched the unfolding scene as enthusiastically as his clients. Rita shook her head in despair; uncertain whether she should pray the monster would agree to take her husband apart piece by piece or whether getting shot was the safer option.

'Marco, please come home,' she begged in English, tugging at his t-shirt. 'We got the baby.'

He turned immediately, slipping an arm about her. 'Take Tony to the church and stay there,' he instructed, turning to face the gorilla.

'You wanna get every bone smashed, Almeida, that's fine,' the gorilla agreed in a loud growl. 'On the highway,' he added, nodding his head at the unpaved road that led from the pueblo.

Marco nodded, his heart sinking. _Dammit Rosa, why can't you either live like a decent woman or else move to some city better suited to your kinda lifestyle. I'm about to get the crap kicked outa me to protect your non existent reputation and it could be Papa next!_ Without the slightest trace of fear he followed the drunks from the plaza, the group of old men playing chess under a tree joining them.

_Is everyone round here raving mad?_ Rita wondered, ready to weep in frustration as she pushed the stroller behind the crowd. _Where the hell's the policeman? It's too early for siesta time_. Her hopes that he would emerge and send the crowd home failed to materialize as the men formed a wide ring round the combatants.

'First man who fails to get to his feet after the count of ten is the loser,' a loud voice informed the frenzied crowd. 'Everyone okay with that?'

Loud yells informed him the rules were acceptable. 'Marco, please don't do this,' Rita begged, joining him. 'Look at that guy; he's twice your size. He…'

'I'm taller than him, honey.'

'Sweetheart, look at his muscles. He could crush you with his bare hands. Please just come home…'

'Querida, I told you to take the baby to the church and wait for me there,' he snapped, annoyed. 'Ladies don't watch this kinda thing, okay. Go now!'

'Well I won't,' she hissed, outraged. 'I don't believe you're into this crazy macho stuff, but I am a nurse and if you're going to get smashed to pieces I'm going to be here to pick you up afterwards.' She rubbed a furious tear from her eyes, her knuckles white on the stroller.

Marco nodded wordless as he removed his t-shirt. 'Take it.'

'He can't even order his wife to leave,' the gorilla hooted, spitting on the ground. 'What kind of man are you, Almeida? A sissy!'

'I don't order my wife around, she's got a hundred times as many brains as you,' Marco replied clearly.

The gorilla turned red as he waded into the fight. Pressing his eyes shut for an instant he ignored the urge to turn and run, taking a step towards him instead. Events moved rapidly from the point of contact with the gorilla's fist which sent him spinning to the ground. As he struggled to his feet he saw Rita at the edge of the crowd, Tony in her arms, her face whiter than after she had given birth. He rolled away from the gorilla and struggled to his feet, dodging the next blow successfully. Before the huge man could change momentum he kicked him, noting him crash to the ground in disbelief.

'Uno, dos tres,' began the loud mouthed man. The gorilla yelled in outrage and stood up, rushing for Marco. 'I'm going to beat your brains out, you bloody rich American! You think you can come back here and insult ME? Someone call the Padre, he's needed to administer the last rites!' Slamming his fist into Marco's cheek he shrieked in triumph as he crumpled to the ground.

'Sí, call the Padre. This guy's going to need him if he wishes to avoid a place in hell,' Marco retorted, rising. Once again he watched the gorilla move towards him through narrowed eyes, tripping him. The monster crashed to the ground which shook under his impact and Marco seized the moment to wipe the blood from his nose.

'Uno, dos, tres, cuatro,' the referee counted.

The gorilla rose and let out a string of the foulest oaths Rita had ever heard in the Spanish language as he physically knocked Marco to the ground, kneeling over him to pound his head into the hard surface.

'Uno, dos, tres, cuatro, cinco,' the man began.

Marco rolled away, alarmed to note a flash of steel in the gorilla's hands. _He's got a knife, Almeida. Watch out, he's determined to kill you!_ The crowd's disapproving hiss reached his ears as the knife was lowered, slashing his thigh.

The world spun as he ignored the sharp pain, kicking the gorilla between the legs. A second hiss followed, turning to yells of disbelief as the gorilla sank to the floor.

'You're a dead man, Almeida,' he cursed, the knife tight in his hand. 'I'm gonna cut off your balls and hand them over to that pretty wife of yours…'

Marco blinked the pain from his pounding skull and rolled away from the lowered blade, staggering to his knees. The gorilla rose to face him, beckoning. 'Come on, Almeida. Your sister is a whore, a good one! You nephew Jose is a bastard! Your…'

'Where's the policeman?' Rita groaned, unable to watch any further. Tony had stopped struggling and watched the carnage with large eyes.

'Someone called for a policeman?' the loudmouthed man yelled, moving to her side. 'What happened, senora? Did you lose your handbag?'

'You're the policeman?' she gasped in disbelief.

'Sí, senora, that's me! We must talk later, there's a fight on!'

'Wait a minute,' she insisted, grabbing his shirt. 'Aren't you going to stop it?'

'Senora, they wouldn't stop whatever I would say. Some lady was insulted, there has to be an answer to that! It won't last much longer. Why don't you go home?'

_Good idea_, Rita thought savagely as she watched Marco take a fist in his stomach, his eyes clouding in pain. _Why don't I go home? What the hell am I doing here in the middle of a desert watching a fight? What kinda mother am I, allowing my baby to watch his father beaten up?_

Marco sank to the ground, the gorilla kicking his head with his boot. Rita hissed in horror and pushed her way into the circle, only to have her arms restrained by the policeman. 'You can't interfere, senora, it's not over yet,' he insisted.

Seeing her kick the policeman in the shins gave him the necessary strength to roll aside for the final time, slamming his fist in the gorilla's throat the way he had been taught in the army. The monster sank to the ground on top of him squeezing the breath out of him as he was unable to move his weight. 'Uno, dos tres,' the policeman counted, ignored by Rita who rushed to his aid, struggling to roll the unconscious giant off him.

'Almeida,' yelled the policeman as joyously as though he had rooted for him all along. 'We have a victor! Rosa Almeida's reputation has been restored! I am not prepared to tolerate any further insults against that lady's honor! Everybody get lost!'

'Marco, are you still alive?' she whispered, unsure whether to kiss him or yell at him for his stupidity.

'Sí, I don't know, maybe not…' he gasped as he collapsed on the ground.

The policeman pulled himself together, marshalling two of the most sober men to carry him to the surgery. Rita followed, pushing Tony across the ill repaired road until they reached the building located beside the police station. The drunks deposited him on an examination table and left. Rubbing her eyes she faced a geriatric who staggered over to them.

'What have we here?' he rasped, blinking uncertainly at Rita.

'He's hurt real bad. Could you please let me know where the doctor is?' Rita begged, ready to weep in terror.

'_I_ am the doctor, young lady! I've _been_ the doctor in this town for seventy years!' the centenarian assured her. 'They can't find a replacement! Now what's wrong with that boy? Was he shot?'

Rita took the flashlight from his hands, peeling back an eyelid. 'He got kicked in the head,' she cried. 'He might have concussion.'

'Ah, concussion. Not good, that,' the old man decided, flashing his light in Marco's other eye. 'Sí, you're right. He's unconscious and he has a concussion. Ah, look, his leg needs stitching as well. It's pouring blood.'

Rita's eyes widened as he struggled to thread a needle before she took it from him. 'Lemme do that, senor. I can fix his leg.'

'You cannot! I haven't forgotten how to repair knife wounds,' he told her, wagging a finger at her. Without further ado he set about closing the wound.

'Wait a moment,' she insisted, horrified. 'Aren't you going to give him something for the pain?'

'He's unconscious, senorita,' the doctor replied, apparently having failed to notice the presence of either the ring or the child. 'Anyway, I haven't got anymore anesthetic, we ran out last week. The truck will bring it when it arrives! Hey hey,' he muttered as Marco stirred, the pain drawing him back to the present. 'Lie still, muchacho, I'm sewing!'

'Marco, sweetheart, he's fixing your leg. You gotta lie still,' Rita begged, allowing her tears out.

'Senorita, either leave or hold him down,' the geriatric snapped, leaving the room. Rita moved to lie across Marco's stomach, stroking his face.

'You gotta be brave, sweetheart. What's that?'

'Tequila,' the doctor responded, pouring half a bottle down Marco's throat. 'It dulls the pain. Quit interfering, the pair of you and let me close that wound.' He resumed sewing, Marco's hand gripping her own each time the needle pierced his skin. Sweat poured down his face as he chewed his lip to prevent yelling.

'How much more?' he breathed, five minutes later, uncertain whether he could tolerate it for much longer.

'It's half done. Lie still,' the geriatric snapped. 'Boys who are stupid enough to get into fights have to deal with the consequences afterwards. You think I got a wand to wave over that wound? Now hold your tongue, you're not a woman!'

Rita's eyes flashed in indignation as he resumed his task and she pressed Marco against the table. 'Don't move, sweetheart, it's nearly done,' she encouraged.

'It's just over half done. I don't believe in glossing over the truth,' the doctor contradicted.

Tony's terrified sobs added to the confusion. Rita moved to comfort him, assuring him his father was fine and they would go home soon.

_Dear God let this be over soon_, Marco prayed, wishing he could sink into oblivion. The longest five minutes of his life played out second by second, a needle prick at a time. The agony in his leg added to his severe headache, his entire skull pounding in tandem with his heartbeats. Before the doctor was done his stomach heaved and returned the tequila, coffee and cake.

'For a man unable to walk past a fight you're a real coward,' the irate doctor assured him as he wiped the vomit off his gown. 'Now lie still!'

Rita helped him remove his clothes and washed him with a cloth once the doctor finished, settling him into a chair. 'He's real bad, senor,' she said worriedly. 'Where's the hospital bed?'

'What bed?' the doctor replied querulously.

'The bed for patients who've had surgery,' she pressed. 'He's supposed to stay overnight for observation and to rest in absolute silence.'

'That bed is not for the living,' the centenarian explained, nodding his head at the room's only bed. 'Take him home while he is alive and nurse him there. Keep him quiet.'

Rita shook her head unable to believe her ears. Instead of the quiet hospital bed he required she was forced to drive the truck over to the door and drag him out, pushing him into the seat and watch him bounce around as she hit the myriad potholes. Nor was there any silence once she reached the house. Marco was bundled upstairs with the help of his dismayed father and tucked into his bed, a cold cloth was placed over his head and they left.

'His application has moved along in the line,' the official assured her as she glared at the phone an hour later struggling against hysteria. 'It shouldn't be long now. You'll both be required to have separate interviews and…'

'And I'm bringing him in next week. Ask us whatever idiotic questions you must but you WILL issue him a Green Card because I assure you my sanity is also on the line and I'm gonna strangle someone real soon,' Rita yelled, smashing the phone down. 'I won't allow them to put us on hold any longer,' she told Tony, undressing him for his bath. 'We're going down there the moment Papa is able to drive and we're gonna camp out there till they sort out his paperwork. I've had ENOUGH!'


	46. Forgiveness

Catalina Torres rapped on the door of an average looking suburban house, noting the handful of weeds in the lawn disapprovingly. Her knock was ignored despite the sound of a music box in the background, followed by the excited shriek of a toddler. Lips pressed together she knocked louder. Hurried footsteps sounded behind the door, something was dragged across the floor and the lock moved. A moment later the door was opened an inch and she found herself face to face with a curly haired two year old who gazed at her curiously.

'Where is your mother?' she demanded, struggling to remember what her friends said he was called.

The toddler blinked at her. 'Mommy's upstairs changing the baby,' he informed her, his speech well developed for a two and a half year old. He backed away, rushing down the hall leaving her standing on the doorstep. Incensed, she took a step forwards, stopping at the sight of a man hurrying towards her.

'How many times have I asked you not to open the door to strangers, m'ijo,' he scolded, the toddler in his arms. 'One of these days it'll be a bad man who'll steal you away and I won't know where to start looking.'

'But it's only an old lady,' the child protested. 'Ladies aren't bad!'

'You never know,' Marco informed him, tossing him into the air. 'Most aren't but someday you could well meet a witch if you're unlucky.' He reached the door, his polite smile frozen on his face. The hairs rose on his arms as he stared at the haughty female opposite him, unable to banish a horrible suspicion as to her identity.

'I'm looking for Rita,' the middle aged woman informed him icily, her face showing her disdain.

Marco gave in to his urge to rub his cheek as he recognized the voice from the hours spent hiding in his room in Miguel's apartment. 'I'll call her,' he said stiffly, pulling a chair from the door. 'You can wait in the lounge. Excuse the mess.'

She followed him in, her eyes taking in the appearance of the house without moving. A rack hung above the door overloaded with coats, pairs of shoes lined the wall and a toy truck occupied the middle of the corridor. The lounge was the first door to the right, a sunny room with simple furniture including a rocking horse, crammed full of toys of every description. A half eaten cookie lay on the coffee table beside a plastic cup of milk, crumbs lining the floor.

'Mine,' the child boasted, stuffing it into his mouth. Once he swallowed it he leapt onto the horse, riding it backwards, hands waving in the air. 'Hi Papa.'

'Careful, m'ijo. You'll break your neck,' Marco warned, glancing at his mother-in-law. She was impeccably attired in a blue suit with a crocodile skin handbag and shoes to match, completely out of place in her surroundings. 'I'll get Rita,' he forced out.

'Thank you,' she said coldly, taking in his worn sweater, faded jeans and swollen eye. Not for the life of her could she imagine what about the obviously unkempt young man had attracted her daughter. The toddler remained on the horse while he left the room, riding faster.

'What's your name?' she inquired icily, annoyed she failed to recall it.

'Tony,' he said, a finger in his mouth. 'It's my horse!'

She nodded. 'What's the baby called?'

'Janey,' he replied, leaping off the animal. 'My bear!' He handed her a much loved blue bear wearing a torn black ribbon. 'Bruno!'

'How nice,' she said, an eye on the door.

Unperturbed by her lack of interest the toddler persevered, throwing a cardboard book on her lap. 'Rocket,' he said, pointing to a picture of one flying through space. 'Car, truck, boat, air balloon!'

'Do you always suck your fingers?' she questioned disapprovingly.

'Yeah,' he replied, turning the page with a damp hand. 'Train!'

'Querida, your mother's here,' Marco said softly, entering the bedroom.

Rita's face paled. She shook her head, biting her lip when he nodded. 'Are you sure?'

Marco nodded grimly. 'Si. She looks like a visiting dignitary on a photo call handing out charity to the homeless! And I recognize her voice. Why don't you go talk to her and I'll finish Janey?'

Rita took his hand nervously. 'I'm not sure…'

'Princess, this is our house,' he comforted. 'You can tell her that if she annoys you. You can ask her to leave if you feel you must, but give her a chance to say her piece.' He paused, using all his self control to utter the next sentence. 'You're her daughter, she must love you. Quarrelling in a family is always bad. You need each other.'

'You're willing to forget what she done to you?' Rita asked disbelievingly.

'Si. Like I said, she's your mother, our children's grandmother. Tony's forgotten my parents long ago, and he's never met yours. It would be nice for them to do so.'

Rita leant her head on his chest feeling his heart beating beneath her ear. Meeting his eyes she found a firm assurance that he believed in what he had said. 'Come down soon,' she begged.

He nodded, walking to the landing with her. 'Sure.' He watched her descend the stairs and enter the lounge, straining to catch their voices. _So she came! If only you'd known her intentions you'd have worn a shirt. This way you just confirmed her opinion of you._ Heart pounding he leaned over the banisters.

'Mom,' she said emotionlessly.

'Margarita. I can see you've actually bought a house!'

Tony rushed to his mother before she could reply, tugging her leg. 'Play hide and seek, mommy. Play…'

'In a minute, sweetie. Yes, we got it last year. You're a long way from home,' she said softly, thinking back to the mansion a few streets back from Lake Michigan. 'I'm surprised you're even aware of these suburbs.'

'Emilia told me she saw you at Spanish dancing. You've taken it up again,' Catalina said, eyeing her daughter with her customary air of disdain. 'And whatever did you do to your hair?'

Rita ran a hand through her braid, smiling. 'I usually tie it up nowadays. The baby keeps pulling it,' she explained. Moving slowly she settled in an armchair across the room, half longing to rush into her mother's arms, half wishing to throw her out.

'Mommy, play hide-and-seek,' the toddler persisted.

'In a minute, baby. Tell Papa to make coffee,' she said, watching him bounce from the room.

'He looks like his father,' Catalina remarked, eyeing her daughter.

'He's the spitting image of him,' Rita agreed. 'Same smile, same frown, same narrowing of eyes, same rubbing of face. Sometimes I wonder whether he got anything apart from his temper from me!' Her face glowed with obvious pride as she spoke of him. 'Marco's real calm and has the patience of a saint. Tony does not!'

Marco appeared a moment later, handing a bundle to his wife. 'She's all done. I'll start the coffee.' He kissed her cheek before he left, the toddler bouncing after him.

'Be a wolf, Papa.'

Marco turned, bearing his teeth and growled ferociously. 'Better run, rabbit. I'm real hungry and I know what I want for dinner.'

'What,' Tony persisted, hopping a little closer.

'Roast rabbit,' Marco cried, chasing the shrieking child through the kitchen and into the garden before he returned to prepare the coffee.

Catalina stared after them with a shocked expression on her face. 'What was he doing?' she asked.

'Oh, it's a game they play. Tony likes this cartoon about a rabbit, and he likes to be chased so Marco acts the part of the hungry wolf. We're lucky he can work from home a couple of days a week, it makes things so much easier.'

'He'll never learn respect that way,' Catalina frowned. 'We would never have allowed such behavior.'

'I know that, Mama,' Rita assured her. _Nobody ever laughed in our place. Even Miguel and I stopped when we were quite young. The moment we entered the place the happiness just died. Even the pot plants and the fish kept dying. That's what attracted me to Marco, the lack of bitterness in his face. You could tell from a mile away that he was a nice guy, happy with himself, confident he could get through life unassisted and not forever observing whether anyone overtook him. Money's not his prime consideration throughout the day. That's why I love him so much, for after your type of upbringing I find myself counting dollars in my head. I need him to remind me to enjoy life, to show me how to do that. _She glanced at her mother, remaining silent. Like Marco had said, they were related and she had missed her. Resolved to let bygones be bygones she smiled, handing over the baby. 'This is Jane. She's seven months old now.'

Catalina observed her only granddaughter in detail. 'She also resembles her father,' she said regretfully, 'but she's got your eyes. I brought her a present.'

Rita stared in amazement at the package pushed into her arms. 'It's a dress I picked up with a matching hair band. I'm sorry about the other twin. What was her name?'

'Justine. I'll go check how the coffee's coming,' Rita muttered, managing to leave the room calmly before she wiped her eyes in the privacy of the kitchen. Strong arms engulfed her, holding her against him.

'I heard. Justine's resting, sweetheart. It's okay to talk about her.'

Rita shook her head. 'It's not okay. There's nothing okay about losing a baby.'

'I know,' he agreed gently, stroking her hair. 'You just gotta learn to say 'yeah,' when people offer condolences and steer the conversation away rather than flee.'

'Dammit, Marco, why couldn't that doctor have paid better attention?' she sobbed, clinging to him as she did every time she recalled her second daughter. 'There was no need for this. And now people just say idiotic things like they're sorry and they didn't even see her. She's mine, no one else got any right to mention her!'

'Hey, querida,' Marco said, frightened. 'It's gonna be okay. Justine's ours, just like the other two. She'll always be ours. We're never gonna forget her. I know it's tough right now but give it a couple more months and people will stop mentioning her. You okay now?'

Rita nodded shakily. 'I need a minute. Please go talk to my mother for a bit, sweetheart. I just need a minute.'

_Oh God, do you know what you're asking me, querida? I never told you I heard her discussing me with Miguel, or what she said about me._ Observing her struggle to stop her tears he nodded. 'Okay. I'll take the cookies.'

_She's Rita's mother. You will be polite, Almeida, you'll even be friendly. So she hates your guts and thinks you're the lowest type of scum around, it makes no difference! You'll put it aside and treat her politely and maybe she'll 'forgive' Rita and allow Miguel to visit us. She misses him._ Pulling an impassive mask on he laid the tray on the coffee table and sat on the couch. 'She'll be here in a sec.'

Catalina nodded, searching him for previously missed defects. She noticed a thin scar on his lower arm and a tattoo of an eagle on his upper right arm. Following her gaze he nodded. 'I got that in the army. Everyone else had girlfriends names put on but I had no one.' He chewed his lip, aware of her hatred. 'We were stationed in the mountains and there were lots of eagles, so someone suggested I should get that done.'

'You always follow the crowd?' she inquired, making little attempt to show him any warmth.

'No, Senora, I don't. I was just a kid then,' he reminded her.

'It's possible to get them removed,' she told him, watching his reaction.

He rubbed the back of his neck vigorously. 'I'll be honest with you, Senora. I like it. There's a sense of freedom about the mountains you don't get elsewhere.'

'So tell me, ah, Marco,' Catalina said, pretending to have difficulty remembering his name, 'what exactly drove you from your farm? I understand country life is so much less problematic than city life.'

_You understand nothing about farming!_ 'I always felt an interest in designing buildings,' he replied politely, resisting the urge to rub his neck. 'I won a scholarship to UIC. It was like a dream come true.' _A dream you almost destroyed._

Catalina's hawkish eyes bore into his own. 'And you felt no compunction leaving your parents?'

Marco gave in to the urge to rub his neck vigorously. Deep inside, despite knowing his three brothers lived nearby and assisted his parents he was unable to shake off a nagging guilt for having 'abandoned' them.

It appeared she could sense his discomfort. Her eyes hardened. 'How old are they now?'

'My father is 58,' Marco replied, his heart heavy. 'And I spent three weeks at home in the summer helping him.'

'Rita is blessed with a wonderful ability to cope with unruly toddlers,' her mother said, noting his unease.

Marco stirred restlessly. He had rushed home after helping with the busiest part of the harvest to be there for the birth of the twins. The power of speech temporarily deserted him as he gazed at the woman he was learning to dread above all others.

'Of course it can't be easy attempting to live in two countries simultaneously,' she continued. 'One is left with a certain guilt wherever one happens to be momentarily, as one realizes his presence is equally required by another party.'

Marco rose, his fingers trembling. 'I'll help Rita with the coffee,' he stammered, hastening to the kitchen. He saw her chasing Tony in the garden through the open window and seized the moment to pull out a bottle of tequila and take a swig. Telling himself all was well, he moved to intercept his son, swinging him into his arms. 'You're wet again,' he said patiently.

'It was raining,' Rita sighed. 'Tony seems to have a sixth sense for when to get wet. I'll go change him.'

'I'll do that,' Marco said hurriedly, grabbing the child before she could object. 'You wanna offer your mother some of that chocolate cake?'

Rita shrugged, feeling inadequate as usual in her mother's presence. 'I don't know. Is it really good?'

'It's fine,' he assured her.

'Cake,' Tony squealed, doing his best to wriggle from his father's arms. 'I'm hungry!'

'I'll bet,' Rita said fondly, ruffling his hair. 'Get dressed and you'll have some.'

_One happy family_, Marco thought to himself as they sat round the dining room table a few minutes later, the toddler on Rita's knee, the only one oblivious to the undercurrents present. He abandoned his spoon after the first bite, electing to seize his slice in both hands and squash as much as he could into his mouth. Cheeks puffed, he pointed to Rita's cake, tapping on the cherry. 'Mine!'

'Manners,' Catalina snapped. 'What do you say if you would like something, Antonio?'

'Cake!' Tony replied, his mouth a little less full.

'That child has atrocious manners,' Catalina exclaimed, turning to regard her son-in-law in disgust. 'No doubt it is perfectly acceptable back home, but here in the United States people eat with a fork and…'

'He's only a baby, mom,' Rita protested, noting Marco's face darken. 'He gets a little carried away when he's eating sweets. He can use a spoon real well.'

'I'm sure,' Catalina remarked, her tone indicating she doubted it. 'What do you imagine you're doing, Antonio?'

Marco turned to find Tony sticking his mother's cherry into his mouth. 'Mine,' he said, unabashed.

'He loves cherries. We always give him ours,' Rita explained, wishing her mother would leave.

Catalina looked horrified. 'And you take him with you to Spanish dancing! Margarita, I refuse to allow my friends to see him this way. You'd better teach him how to eat real soon!'

As though sensing her disapproval, the toddler reached forward, pointing to the remaining half of the cake. 'More cherry.'

'Not now, sweetheart,' Rita told him, ruffling his hair. 'It's for tomorrow.' Seeking to divert her mother's attention away from the child she so plainly disapproved of, she turned to her. 'How's Papa?'

'Oh, he's quite well, despite what you put him through! It wasn't easy for a man his age.'

_What she put him through! What about what he put her through? _Marco thought furiously. _He stood by and allowed his only daughter to be chased from their home. What the hell type of father is he, anyway?_

Rita's eyes lowered as she twisted her wedding band round her finger. 'Tell him I miss him,' she said quietly.

'Oh, I'll do that when the time comes,' Catalina replied cryptically, her mouth open to say more. 'Look at that!' she finished.

Marco squeezed his eyes shut for a second, having caught a glimpse of Tony who had wriggled successfully from Rita's arms and reached across the table to the cake, pulling a cherry from it. 'I'll go put it back in the fridge,' he said, winking at his son. _Just keep going like this, muchacho, and she won't come too often._ _Somehow, you can live with that!_ He removed the cake, popping his head back inside. 'You gotta excuse me, sweetheart. These plans must be ready by 5:00. It was nice to meet you, Senora!'

In the end the day was wasted. He found himself staring at half drawn plans in fruitless incomprehension before he decided to allow the necessary time to elapse to regain his concentration. As during his entire life when faced with a needed break he went outdoors, zipping his coat to his throat and breathing in the cold air fresh with the scent of the morning showers. The garden gleamed with a myriad forms of life, the lawn, the vegetable patch that he tended religiously, and the weeds that persistently pushed their way through the slabs on the path. A weak patch of sunshine shone on him, not enough to warm him but adequate to cheer him. Breathing easier, he noted Tony peddling his tricycle through the deepest puddle in the garden, sinking in the mud. He slid off, dragging it forward by the handle bars until he reached a smoother patch of lawn and resumed his journey. Briefly he wondered why his son invariably chose the worst patch of lawn to cross when the relative comfort of the path was so close before he grinned. _He's just like you, Almeida. Since when have you ever elected to choose an easy course? The rough bits are every bit as entertaining as the smooth, more so occasionally._ Smiling at the thought of the two years meeting Rita clandestinely, he moved to aid the toddler who had tumbled from the tricycle. 'It doesn't go that way, m'ijo. It can't,' he explained patiently. The child ignored him, returning to the puddle with grim determination.

'He's quite a character,' Rita observed, slipping an arm about him. 'He'll keep going till there's no water left there and he'll cross it!'

Marco laughed. 'I know. We're gonna have our hands full, Mrs. Almeida!'

Rita drew him towards her, kissing his sore eye, a result of their daughter's spoon waved into it. 'You don't know the meaning of the term "hands full", Mr. Almeida.' Seeing his raised eyebrows she brushed a little hair from his forehead, hugging him tight. 'We agreed on six, remember? You're not thinking of backing out, are you?'

Marco glanced at her sparkling eyes and shook his head. 'I don't renege on my contracts, querida. If Marco Almeida promised something, he'll deliver.' Lowering his voice, he glanced at her mischievously. 'Who knows, we might even make one tonight!'

'Is that so?' she questioned, equally quietly. 'Well, that depends on how alert I'll be. Bath the kids, put them to bed and do the dishes, and we'll talk about it!'

'You got it,' he agreed, pressing his lips against hers.


End file.
